Conspiracy Theories and Lack Thereof
by MegalegU
Summary: Max has been approached by the FBI. Andrea is being forced to move to North Carolina. And Neal Potts has shed all traces of his popularity by joining the A/V club. What's a Special to do? Please read and review!
1. Sweet Nike Sneakers

Hola! So here it is: the sequel to Life as we Know It! You don't _have _to read the first story, but some parts will be confusing if you don't. Anyways, if you _have _read Life, as we Know It there are two things I need to clear up: (1) I seemed to have changed Adam's last name two different times so if you spot the difference, sorry 'bout that one and (2) I forgot that during the first story I made a "three months from now" thing, but I went back three months in this sequel. I guess I must have forgot? Anyways, please read and review!

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"…Remembering that although the future may unfold in indelible strokes, it doesn't mean we have to read the same line over and over." – _Perfect Match, _a novel by Jodi Picoult

**November 17****th****, Monday**

**(Max's Opinion) **

Let me just start off by saying I didn't know that I was being followed.

Sure, I had a slightly wary thought about it, maybe being discovered by an agency or something. Kind of like _Escape to Witch Mountain _only with less of that telekinetic stuff since the only relatively cool thing I can do is start storms and control wind, you know, normal every day teenager stuff.

Let me also say that when you walk outside of school, fully prepared to go home, flop on the couch, and gorge yourself on Doritos and instead are met with two FBI agents, well, what are _you _going to do?

Well for me, as luck would have it, I had just bought these sweet Nike sneakers and it was like my feet were made of steel.

Now I know what you're thinking: _what does this have to do with any of what I'm talking about? _I'll get to that.

First let me just remind you what's going on:

My parents shipped us all off to Santa Barbra, California, with my Uncle George and my grandmother. Neither of them really can handle taking care of themselves, much less a house, so they live with us.

I started off my first day at Santa Barbra High School with a somewhat – read: extremely – cynic take on what was going to happen to me. If I'm being truthful here – and I usually am, most of the time – I thought that I would be like one of those guys on shows like _90210_, where they make instant friends and play volleyball on the beach. Although volleyball isn't my best sport. I'm pretty good at basketball and alright at soccer, though. Sports for the Alaskan people. Or are they?

Anyways.

I met Neal Potts and at first I thought nothing of him. He was just a guy that needed help on a lab in earth science.

I'll admit it: I also needed help on that lab. Come on, who _really _cares about meteorology?

Then we met Andrea Portland who turned out to be _amazing_.

Yeah, that's right. I used italics.

It wasn't that big of a surprise when Neal ended up with Andrea, but I was still stung by it.

Shortly after this I got the biggest shocker of my entire life.

Wait – hold on one second. Let me just be clear here. I haven't had a fulfilling life; I haven't been skydiving or rock climbing or had an epiphany about something yet.

_But. _

I have had something happen to me in all of my fifteen years.

After I got back from seeing _Unstoppable _with Neal and his friends and Andrea's friends, something weird happened to me.

I discovered – wait for it…wait for it…

I can control the weather.

Now before you roll your eyes and say how much of a cliché super power stories are nowadays – you are wrong.

Imagine a super hero movie about a teenage kid that gets forced into moving to Santa Barbra, makes a few friends, gets a crush, and then somehow discovers he has superpowers.

Oh, and he still has to study for midterms, believe it or not.

I don't pull on tights and rush out into the city of Santa Barbra, wearing a cape (actually, even if I _was _a super hero I definitely would not wear a cape because, as the movie _Incredibles _has pointed out to me, capes can be pretty dangerous) and saving the city, serving justice.

Or, as I've secretly referred to it in my head, kicking ass and taking names.

But back to what I was saying: I can control the weather.

I don't know how, I don't why, and personally, I don't really care. I'm just glad something cool has finally happened to me besides that one time I got a _really _good deal on a PS3 on eBay.

Now it wasn't all fun and games; I _did _flood the downstairs of our four-floored high school a _teensy _little bit. Is it my fault I haven't had much practice?

That question was rhetorical; don't answer it.

Neal also wasn't too happy with me when Andrea broke up with him, saying that she liked someone else.

Yes, that someone else is me.

Which you might think I'd be pretty stoked about if Neal hadn't sought out revenge by punching me in the jaw. I sported a nice little shiner for a few days.

After that happened, though, Andrea and I got together. As the weeks passed, things were looking up. All of my favorite movies kept playing on FX, mom actually remembered to buy peanut butter, CSI actually started coming out with good episodes.

And then, like all good things, it came to an end.

I caught Andrea with Neal and they were kissing. In the _library. _Who does that? I thought that kind of stuff only happened in Nicholas Sparks books. Hey, no judging! My mom left _Nights in Rodanthe _on the counter and _maybe _I _sort of _skimmed it.

So then Andrea told me what was really going on:

She has powers too.

Except hers aren't what I thought they would be when she confessed. After all, haven't you ever seen an X-men movie?

She has powers that make guys fall in love with her. To clarify, when she is around guys, it's like they fall under some kind of spell.

This, as you would hopefully understand, was kind of unsettling. We were dating. I thought she was the first girl I would ever admit I really, _really _cared about. How would you feel, if you knew what you had been feeling was all just some trick played on you?

Okay, all caught up now.

So I was wearing my new Nike sneakers and I felt like The Flash in them, so when the man and the woman approached me, and the man said, "Henry Lunse, FBI. Are you Max Perwitz?" I ran.

I was literally booking.  
I ran down the long path that leads to the front doors, I ran down the long line of school buses, down to where the track is.

Admittedly, this wasn't my best plan.

Sure I was wearing my awesome new sneakers and sure I was running pretty fast and only slightly breaking a sweat (wiping my forehead with the hem of my t-shirt only _twice!_) but let me just tell you now:

FBI agents can _run_.

Henry Lunse was practically right on my heels when we were running and I managed to sneak a few glances at the people I passed. They were all just staring at me, and I tried to smile, but then I remembered: I left my backpack at the front doors.

I couldn't leave my backpack behind! But I also couldn't run right back around to make a grab for it. I _was _nearing the track which was pretty far from the front doors of the school and I was sure that if I had looked behind me, the blonde girl would also be following. She didn't seem like the aggressive type, but I didn't want to have to push her to get past.

So here's the thing.

I kept running.

It's completely insane, that much I'm aware of, that one minute I have to conjugate irregular French verbs and that the next I am being chased down by an FBI agent, Henry Lunse, who inexplicably smells like cheese.

Except – here was my second mistake.

The gates that surround the track and the football field and the little snack bar were shut. Locked.

And I've seen kids on the cross-county team run right into the gates when the doors are closed and they just smack right open and then they continue on running.

So when I attempt to do just that…I fail. Miserably.

I took one last fleeting look behind me, because, come on, I wanted to see the look on Henry Lunse's face when he realized that I'd gotten away, and then turned my head forwards.

And smacked into the gates.

Clearly, this was my downfall.

I'm being quite literal here: I smacked right into the gate, face first, and fell back onto the ground. The ground, unlike grass, is not very forgiving.

I suppose at that point I could have just scrambled up and continued on running, but my back hurt _really _badly and I could already see Henry Lunse out of the corner of my eye.

So I just looked up at the sky.

Once Henry got close enough to me, I said, "So...nice day isn't it?"

He looked pretty po'd.

The blonde woman came running down the path after Henry, and here was the thing: she was holding my backpack.

Now that was touching.

I'd totally ditched those two – well, attempted anyways – and she was still kind enough to grab my bag.

Maybe I should have thanked her.

"Mr. Perwitz," Henry began, looking down at me disdainfully. Which I can't really blame him for because he'd gotten dirt all over his impressive shoes and I know I wouldn't be happy.

"That is me." I affirm, still lying on the ground, looking up at Henry.

The blonde woman finally caught up and she looked down at me, panting.

"What is he doing?" she asked Henry in confusion.

Henry shook his head and then held out his hand.

For some reason, this was symbolic to me because you're technically not supposed to give in to FBI demands because then you're in some kind of _Eagle Eye _trap, but he was only holding out his hand, so I accepted it gratefully and stood up.

Once I'd dusted myself off and taken my bag out of the blonde woman's hand, Henry gave me a nasty look.

"Mr. Perwitz, we are only here to talk. People who run usually have something to hide, don't they?"

"I don't know, do they?" I asked, answering a question with a question. My dad didn't teach me some psychology for nothing.

"Mr. Perwitz, you wouldn't mind coming with us, would you?" The blonde woman asked, and she was so nice, unlike Mr. Dirty Shoes over here that I obliged.

"You can call me Max." I said, following her over to a nondescript black jeep.

Henry opened the back door, and I slid inside, trying not to panic.

Once they were both in the front seats, Henry cleared his throat and said, "Mr-excuse me, _Max, _as you know, Agent Erica and I are with the FBI. We're just here to ask you a few questions."

"We didn't mean to make you upset!" Erica quickly explains.

Didn't mean to make me upset? Dude – has she _seen Escape to Witch Mountain_?

"Why couldn't you just call?" My voice sounded strange. Scared. I don't even know why because once I went bungee jumping with my cousin Trevor and it was way more terrifying than this.

"We wanted to speak face to face," Erica said smoothly. "There's something we need to discuss."

Well, yeah. There are a lot of things I want to discuss with people but I don't go chasing them down. "How do you know my name?" I asked.

"We know a lot about you, Max." Henry replied as he pulled the jeep into a right lane. "For instance, we know you aren't really that great with academics."  
Ouch. "In my defense, schoolwork gets kind of tough when-!" Oops. Almost let it slip.

"When what, Max?" Erica asked patiently.  
Oh great. I'd been trying _so _hard not to tell anyone! I didn't even have a sidekick best friend to confess everything to, like on _No Ordinary Family. _

"When I…uh…got the new Madden game for the PS3." My lies were getting more and more desperate.

"Cut the crap." Henry snorted. "We know you don't play sports. You did try out for the basketball team back when you lived in New York City, when you were in grade school. As I can recall though, you did not make the team."

What? How does _he _know that? Not even my parents know that. It was too embarrassing to admit. Wait – he knew about me living in New York City too…which meant he knew I'd lived in Alaska. Had they been following me that long?

"I don't know what you're talking about." I crossed my arms over my chest and then quickly un-crossed them, remembering it makes me look defensive when I do that.

"I think you do, Max." Erica said.

"Where are we going?" I demanded. I didn't have to explain myself to them, did I? I hadn't done anything _illegal, _for god's sake.

"A place where we can speak privately." Henry seemed to snap.

"Just asking." I slumped over in the back seat.

Minutes later, we had arrived at the Santa Barbra Police Station.

"Are you serious?" I screeched. "You guys are arresting me, aren't you? I haven't done anything illegal, I swear! I mean, one time Neal dared me to J-walk but that wasn't anything because Sarah…" I stopped. Did I want to tell them about my family, or did they already know?

"Relax." Henry put the car in park and looked back at me. "We're just here to talk."  
_Just here to talk. _Right. I've only seen that in oh, about a _dozen _movies.

We slowly walked inside the building, Erica and Henry leading the way. I could feel the cops' eyes on me, wondering what I was doing there, most likely.

_You're not the only ones._

Finally, we came to a small room and Henry opened the door, gesturing for me to go in first.

When I stepped inside, I was greeted by another man, this time in a three-piece suit and he wore small, gold glasses.

"Max Perwitz, good to see you. Go on, sit down."

There were only two chairs in the small room, and I sat, defiantly staring at the one way-window where I knew Henry and Erica were watching.

The large, steel table also didn't help matters, as it was covered in files. After taking a closer look, I realized that they were all about me.

"Why do you guys have all of this stuff?" I asked, fear creeping into my voice. "Or, a better question, why am I even here?"

The man in the suit laughed, leaning back in his chair casually. "Well that isn't a nice way to say hello. I'd start with something like, 'good afternoon, Mr. Thompson'."

"I'm not going to call you by your name when I don't even know it. Or furthermore, why I am even here."

"Fair enough." Mr. Thompson opened one of the manila folders and slid it across the table towards me. I saw some boring looking medical information and then a whole mess of photos, and from the looks of it, they had been taken recently. I could tell because in one of them Andrea was with me. My throat closed. Even though I was upset with Andrea, I didn't want the FBI on her, too. Because, let's be honest here, I'd watched enough movies to know this wasn't just a nice Monday afternoon.

"Well, it just looks like a bunch of pictures. Have you been amusing yourselves, stalking me?" I asked.

Mr. Thompson let out another laugh. "Max, we've been following you for a while now."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, ever since your moves from New York to Alaska to Santa Barbra. The FBI has been keeping a close eye on you."

I still didn't understand. "So what you're telling me is you've been following me? Taking pictures? You know, I could probably get a restraining order on you for that."

Suddenly, Mr. Thompson didn't look quite so amused anymore. "Max, let me be straight with you. We both know why you're here."

"Because you secretly are starting an inter-agency government operation to design mini-Jason Bournes and want me to participate?" A pathetic attempt at a joke, I _know_. But I couldn't be all serious in a room like that. It was like sitting in a morgue.

"No, not exactly, Mr. Perwitz. Because you are one special boy."

"Special?" Oh crap.

"Yes…special. How is the weather, by the way?" Oh double crap.

"I…" My mouth was too dry to say anything.

"That's right." Mr. Thompson smiled gleefully. "We know all about you and your little gift."  
I couldn't speak.

"In fact, we've kept tabs on people like you. On families that have the 'gene' so to speak." Mr. Thompson got up from his chair and began striding around the room, probably to make me feel even more nervous. Stupid government people and their power trips.

"It's been fairly successful. We've had lots of people come and go _just like you_. They help the FBI out once in a while. Did you know that, Max?"

I shook my head numbly.

"We want you to help us, Max." Mr. Thompson continued. "Of course, _we _will help _you _in return. It's entirely your decision."

Finally, I found I could speak again. "What exactly would my 'helping out' entail?"

"Well first, we would like to run some tests."

My eyes widened, a thousand different scenarios running through my head.

Mr. Thompson held up his hands, as if to say _I surrender. _"We just want to see how you work, Max. How your brain functions, how you dream, how you feel. What makes you different. We will make sure you are comfortable." Mr. Thompson smiled. "That is, if you're up for it."

Now, I _know _this sounds bad. I get it. The FBI has been following me for a while now and I haven't thought anything strange was going on. It's kind of stalker-esque. They know about my ability. They know who I am and where to find me, so what else could possibly go wrong?

I forced a small smile and said, "I'm up for it."

The FBI are pretty thorough, to say the least.

First, I have to get total assurance by them that they will not say a _word _of this to my parents. Let's be honest, here. Do you think _your _parents would react calmly to the fact that you have super powers and that the FBI wants you to…help them?

They tell me that no, they will not tell anyone.

"It's almost like doctor-patient confidentiality," Henry chuckled.

"Yeah…not really." I mumbled.

After that, there were the tests. They tested everything:

My cholesterol, my blood, my heart, my throat, my ears, my eyes. They even took scans of my brain which was pretty awkward.

After all of that was done I was lead back into the room I was first in, where Henry and Erica sat.

"So, you guys miss me?" I asked, glancing at my watch. About two hours had passed since I got there. Mom and dad would be freaking out if I was gone any longer, but I didn't exactly want to admit to some tough FBI agents that I had a curfew shorter than six year olds.

Erica looked like she was going to retort back – I saw her smile! Proof those agents _do _have emotions – when Henry interrupted her.

"Actually, Max, there's something we need to discuss with you."

"Okay, well there's something I need to discuss with you." I folded my hands together and tilted my head to the side. "I'm pretty hungry. Given the fact that I _do _actually have parents and they cook dinner and expect me to show up I'm going to need to leave soon."

Henry nodded. "Very well. We'll resume this tomorrow, then? Same time. We'll pick you up."

I stood up and walked to the door but then Henry cleared his throat and said, "Oh, and Max?"

"Yeah?" I sighed. It was really creepy in that place and I didn't want to be there any longer. I didn't even know what they really _wanted _me there for.

"Don't run away this time."

I laughed, despite the situation.


	2. Technology 101

Technology is ruled by two types of people: those who manage what they do not understand, and those who understand what they do not manage – Mike Trout

**(Neal's Opinion)**

**November 17****th****, Monday, 3:34PM**

Okay, so Max is done telling his biased side of the story? Great, it's my turn.

I was just walking out the side entrance of the school when I saw Max and the man and woman standing in front of him. For some reason, Max looked pretty upset. I saw him say something – looked like _oh crap _to me – and then he bolted.

Literally.

For a moment, I had just stood there in shock, unable to process what was going on.

Two kids from the A/V club immediately swiveled around on the steps, video cameras out and recording. I snatched one from the kid with glasses, ignoring his cry of, "Hey!" and zoomed in on the man chasing Max.

Wait. I forgot something.

I should probably catch you up on what happened earlier.

This isn't _all _my fault.

Andrea was the one to lean her head on my shoulder, blubbering snot and tears and who knew what else on my new Pac Sun shirt and I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. After all, wouldn't you? Don't you just melt when people cry around you?

Well…except for little kids. They're freakin' annoying.

_Andrea _was the one that acted like she wanted to date.

How many times do I have to go over this? _Andrea wanted me. _Then suddenly, Max starts bitching and complaining that I took his crush? Pathetic. Seriously.

And besides, I didn't get Andrea in the end. _He _did. Andrea left me for him.

I was so mad that I…I did something I regret now. I'm sure Max has already told you about it.

So when we were in the library and Andrea confessed to me that she and her family were moving to North Carolina and that she didn't want to go, well… I don't know what happened, don't ask me. One minute I was standing there, trying to comfort her, and the next we were kissing.

Unfortunately, Max had a front-row seat to this little show.

Andrea left me standing there, alone, in the library, to go and beg to Max I guess, and now I'm here.

Oh, right – so I grabbed the video camera and zoomed in on the guy chasing after Max. The blonde woman was still standing by the doors, and I turned the video camera, following her moves through the tiny screen. She looked like she wanted to hang back, but then she scooped up Max's backpack, and took off after the other guy in the suit.

For a minute I was seriously contemplating going after all three of them, just to keep up with the action, but I had this video camera and it was a Sony and impressive so I stepped back a little more –

"Hey, you don't have to do that. Just…zoom. Like this." The redhead with the Battlestar Galatica t-shirt put his camcorder in my line of vision, showing me how.

Now usually when these type of kids talk to me, I brush them off and pretend like they were never there – because, hey, if you went to _my _school, you'd know that sci-fi, comic books, and _especially _the A/V club, are strictly ruled as "dorky" – but this time, I nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, man," I then looked at the kid with glasses. "Uh, sorry about this. It's just…that's my friend…well, he _used _to be my friend…he's the one running."

"Max Perwitz." The redhead said, snapping his fingers. "He's in the sailing club, I think."

I shook my head in amazement. What is it with "nerdy" type kids and their expansive knowledge of our school's population?

"Who are those guys?" Kid with glasses asked. He turned to Battlestar Galatica like he'd know.

"Hold on," Battlestar mumbled, adjusting the buttons on his camcorder. Then, quickly, he pressed another button and an image filled the screen. He displayed it to me: the blonde woman had turned around just in time for Battlestar to snap a pic. If the situation hadn't been so intense, I might have laughed at the thought of what Battlestar would do with the picture later.

"What's that going to do?" Glasses asked, scratching the back of his neck. He looked wearily at me, holding his probably-costs-more-than-a-used-car camcorder. I quickly held it up again, carefully keeping my hand in the strap on the side of it. I didn't want to have to owe this guy my life savings if I accidently dropped the thing.

"We could run it through our…" Battlestar raised his eyebrows, as if this were some sort of signal to Glasses. Surprisingly, Glasses nodded and then pointed ahead, where my camcorder was focused but I wasn't; I'd been staring at the two, trying to decipher what the whole raised eyebrows move meant.

Max had just smacked into the gate surrounding the track, the football field, and the baseball diamond. "Ouch!" I hissed, nearly feeling the same pain as Max. The hardcore cross-country kids always did that smacking into the gate thing, thinking they were all BA.

"And he goes dowwwwwn!" Kenneth Lodgins shouted from the bottom step of the stairs, clutching his iPhone in his fist. No doubt he was going to report this to his stoner friends.

"Uh oh," Glasses mumbled, and I looked ahead just in time to see Max being herded into a black Jeep with tinted windows.

"Is he being abducted or is it just me?" I asked, whirling back around to face Battlestar. His mouth opened like a goldfish's and then shut. "Well?" I demanded, feeling pretty nervous. Even if Max and I weren't on speaking terms this was still pretty bad and I wasn't about to abandon him just because of some catty girlfriend issue.

Wow. That felt weird to admit.

"I still have the picture." Battlestar held his camcorder up again and looked pointedly at Glasses. Glasses nodded, cleared his throat, and asked, "Could I have my camcorder back now?"

Gently, I removed my hand from the strap, clicked off the record button, and handed it to him.

"Uh, bye." Glasses turned around but I grabbed his shoulder.

"Wait!" I pleaded, and Glasses looked down at his shoulder and then back up at me.

Crap. The kid probably pissed his pants, thinking I was gonna hurt him or something.

"Can I come with you guys?" I asked, instantly feeling all of my once-semi-cool reputation leaving me as I begged to join the A/V guys on wherever they were going.

Battlestar nodded to Glasses, and Glasses sighed, first looking me up and down before saying, "Alright. But _don't _touch anything."

I held up my palms. "You have my word."

Minutes later, we were in the tech room – "The A/V club!" Glasses had hastily corrected me when I'd called it that – and Battlestar was hooking his camcorder up to an iMac. Glasses joined him on the wheelie chair to his left and I took his right, taking in all of the other kids at computers, messing around with Photoshop and editing clips of what looked like September's pep rally.

"Uh, so I never learned your guys' names." I casually said, hoping it didn't make me seem arrogant.

"Oh." Battlestar lifted his head up and gave a small raise of his hand. "The name's Steven."

"And I'm Ben." Glasses added, awkwardly pushing the tiny frames back up onto the bridge of his nose. "Well, Benjamin, really, but everybody calls me-"

"I've got it!" Steven crowed triumphantly, pointing to the screen of the iMac. Sure enough, the picture of the blonde woman had uploaded and then Steven bent forward, fingers outstretched towards the keys. Within seconds, his fingers were moving so fast that all I could hear was the _click-clack_ing of the keys.

"Uh, what is he doing?" I asked Ben, not wanting to be completely out of the loop.

"He's running it through our facial recognition software." Ben supplied.

"Oh! Like Abby Sciuto!" I brightened. I didn't bother to question why they even had facial recognition software. If I'd learned anything so far from this year, it was that some things just needed to go unexplained.

Ben looked confused.

"Pauley Perrette? _NCIS_?" I tried again. Come on, had this guy honestly never watched at least one episode?  
"I'm more of a _Stargate _fan." Ben shrugged.

I shrugged back.

"Guys, I've got it!" Steven leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with his work. "Her name's Erica Johnson, she's an agent with the FBI, _and…_" he smiled, stretching out the last bit. "She was born in December 1985."

"Not _too _big of an age difference, am I right?" I joked, playfully punching Ben's arm. He shot me a look. "What?" I asked innocently.

"Seems like your friend had the FBI after him." Steven mused, a bit smug with his results, which I honestly could not blame him for. This kid was _good_.

"But why?" Ben asked, walking over to the computer to take a look. Then he looked over at me, as if I would know.

"I have no idea." I felt slightly inadequate next to all of these fancy gizmos and smart people, and I could feel a slight blush began to spread across my cheeks.

"Max Perwitz…" Steven mumbled to himself, testing out the name. "What's so special about Max Perwitz…"

Feeling useful, I offered, "He makes movie references a ton. He's really good with ones from the 90's."

Both Steven and Ben gave me a weird look.

"He also likes those books, _The Hunger Games,_" I continued, looking not at them, but at a poster for pi that was stapled to the wall. "And…we were kinda fighting earlier."

"About what?" Steven asked, perplexed.

"Uh…well…there was this girl…" I let my voice trail off and hoped that would be enough for them to go on, but Ben just raised his eyebrows and Steven stared at me blankly.

"Andrea Portland." I clarified, knowing this was all I could say to them before spilling out the whole story and there was no way I was doing _that_.

"Ahh. Andrea." Steven nodded knowingly.

"Sue Storm hot!" Ben commented.

Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

"Fantastic Four? The invisible woman?"

Uh…

"Anyways." Steven snapped his fingers. "I'll try and get some info on this."

I nodded and then looked down at my watch. "Ooh, crap! I've got to get home. I'll see you guys tomorrow." It felt weird to say that.

I was halfway out the door when I turned around, and said, "I never told you guys _my _name."

"Neal Potts. You like football…and girls." Ben cracked a smile.

I shook my head in disbelief.

* * *

** (Andrea's Opinion) **

Now that Neal has _his _version of the story out of the way – we all know what an exaggerator he can be – I can tell mine.

On the day I confessed to Max about my powers, my dad had Rob and I search online for available houses on the market. Of course _Rob _was excited about it; he was told by dad that anything that had an in ground pool was a definite on the list of houses-to-see. Plus, if I'm being honest here, he never really had any friends so moving wasn't a giant deal for him.

For me, though, moving was unfathomable.

I had _just _started to feel alright again and now we would have to pack up and leave.

One of the things that had been bugging me about the move was that my mom had left about three months ago, but what if she decided to come back? What if she was met with an empty home, an ache in her heart? What if she missed all of us but couldn't find a way to reach us? The thoughts were driving me crazy, lying awake at night, staring up at the ceiling. I tried everything to get to sleep but not even warm milk (the ultimate cure for insomnia, at least, that was what my grandmother always told me) or reading aloud from my bio textbook (for some reason, the explanation behind protein synthesis always made me feel relaxed) could help.

Now, though, I had a lot of other things to be lying awake in the middle of the night, for.

Max Perwitz.

The most amazing guy I'd probably ever met in my life. And I've met a _lot _of guys. I have a whole list logged in my memory, just in case someone someday ever asks me, which, chances are, they never will, but hey – that's how it is.

Admittedly, when I first met the guy, my hopes were very low for a future relationship. He acted like one of those "obvious" types. You know the ones whose eyes keep drifting down to look at your breasts when you're talking to them and they think you couldn't possibly tell but it's actually very apparent that they are.

Then, though, when I saw him with Neal at the movies, I felt a little…scared. Can you imagine? Out of all the guys I've ever hung out with – and I can add 'future serial killers' to that list – _this _guy was the one I was scared to be around. Those nervous butterflies I always get before a big test happened. So what did I do? I turned to Neal Potts, an arrogant guy that, let's be honest, could have any girl he wanted just because of his looks: short black hair, piercing blue eyes, tanned complexion, radiant white teeth –

Oops. There I go again.

Anyways, I turned to Neal because I'd had such experience with these types of guys, and so I wouldn't get the nervous butterflies. I was in my comfort zone, and so was Neal, apparently.

Then Max had gotten sick and I'd felt bad, watching him get half-carried out of the movie theater by Adam and Neal. I should have noticed the signs right then, but I was so focused on acting like I didn't like Max and flirting with Neal to pretend Max didn't exist, that I failed to see it.

As the days passed, I felt my feelings for Neal actually turning into real things, and so my "Max feelings" went to the wayside.

Until, I finally noticed.

Max is probably the most unpredictable guy I've ever met. He's always got another surprise waiting.

Right around the time when I figured this out, I also found out something about him I'm sure he had only just discovered.

He had abilities.

No, not abilities like knowing how to surf – _so _hard, which you'd think wouldn't be, since I lived in Santa Barbra and all – or being able to bake the most amazing cakes ever.

His abilities were anomalies, freaks of nature.

Now I know I'm pretty smart – scored a 123 on the online IQ test! Yeah! – but I could not for the life of me figure out what power Max had. I just knew he had one, because, like I said, after meeting so many people you begin to categorize them.

Alright – this is the part where I began to veer into stalker-territory.

I was so intent on figuring out Max's power that when I saw him walking around in the hallways, agenda under his arm, I would covertly – alright, not so covertly – follow him, expecting his power to be displayed like that. I was expecting one of those clichéd abilities that I've seen on most kids – teleportation (I swear, it's like kids have never heard of discretion), telekinesis (floating objects? Come on), mind reading (again with the discretion issues), and finally, my personal favorite, super strength. I guess I was expecting Max to live up to my expectations and hopefully more, but when I couldn't figure out what the power was, I dropped it. I moved closer to Neal again, in the hopes that my mind would be taken off Max, and, for a few days, it worked.

But then I started to get _really _annoyed with Neal. It was really awkward to be near him and he was supposed to be my boyfriend! He was very grabby, if that explains it.

The longer I stayed with Neal, the more my feelings were directed to Max. For a while I had been constantly going from Neal to Max back to Neal again and none of those times could I honestly say I was happy with just the one. Neal was attractive, funny, and knew how to make a girl feel special. Max was passionate, smart, and so _different _from any guy I'd ever met. He was always smiling even though, as far I could tell, he wasn't happy.

So when I finally broke it off with Neal, I felt relieved. Apparently so did Max; He confessed to me that he had powers to control the weather. I had to admit to myself at the moment, that sounded pretty cool. Imagine being able to make thunderstorms any time you wanted! To bring heat when it was cold! A long list ran through my mind, making me wonder just what Max would show me that he could do. Soon after that, Max and I began dating, and all was peaceful. Calm. Safe. Things I hadn't felt for a long time.

And then…

I always hated these parts of the stories. Like in books and movies, when everything is happy and enjoyable and then you can't help but think, _when is the bad thing going to happen? Why are these people so happy when you know that eventually they're going to be facing the inevitable? _

Nothing lasts forever.

When my dad broke it to my brother and I that we would soon have to move to North Carolina (he had said that it would take a year at the most, but we would for sure be moving) I couldn't believe it. I refused to. My life had finally begun to relax in the whole drama category, and I had finally resolved things with Max – I was dating him! I didn't want to leave anything behind. Max and my mom were the two big things that kept me on the "_hell _no I am not moving" side. In fact, there wasn't another side that I was on.

I _refused _to move.

This of course, somehow led me straight back into Neal's arms, and when we were in the library, after I confessed to him…I felt all of these old feelings coming back, and then Max was standing there, and I was dumbfounded. I hadn't even realized that I was kissing Neal.

_I _was kissing _Neal. _This was not the way things worked! Any girl other than me would have been thrilled to have a guy like Max, and she would not have screwed it all up for some arrogant, perverted, self-absorbed _loser. _

Okay, sorry Neal, that was harsh.

In an effort to get Max back on my side – how cheesy does _that _sound? – I confessed. About everything. It got me next to nothing. In fact, the only thing I did get was a door slammed in my face when Max walked away. Which, to be fair, is the exact same thing I did to him when he confessed to me. Both of us had walked away from the problem. And, I admit it here, grudgingly, me more than him. It was my fault Max had walked away.

When the end of the day had rolled around, the only things I allowed myself to be concerned over were the huge biology test coming up at the end of the quarter and when my copy of _Fight Club _was _finally _going to arrive in the mail. (Just in case you're wondering – the book, not the movie).

As I walked outside the doors of Santa Barbra High School, recounting the day's bio lesson in my head in the hopes that I could memorize it that way, I saw _them. _

Now, I've never been caught with my…ability. It's not really something that has a tell, like mind reading, a power that makes people suspicious, so I've never had anyone come after me. I've heard of these people, the "FBI". Back in junior high, when I'd just discovered my ability, a boy named Will had the power of invisibility (don't ask me how I knew) and then, nearly weeks later, he just…disappeared. I know it sounds insane to jump to an accusation like perhaps the people who claim to be the FBI work with some inter-government agency to take down Specials, but if you _were _a Special, well, you'd be crapping your pants. These guys are not to be messed with. You stay _far _away.

How do I know about them, you ask?

I know a man very well, a teacher, who has definitely helped me through some tough times.

His name is Casey Keefe.


	3. Rumor Has It

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart – Helen Keller

**November 17****th****, Monday, 7:03PM**

**(Max)**

Neal was talking like this was all _my _fault, wasn't he? Typical.

Well, I can tell you _my _side of the story is guaranteed truth. Completely, totally, straight. I _did _own up to my extremely embarrassing smacking-into-the-fence story, didn't I?

I guess I should continue on with what happened after I left the SBPD.

Lucky for me, Agent Erica Johnson is the only nice one in the place; she had ordered a beat cop to pick up my bike that was still on the rack at school and when I walked out, it was right next to a bench waiting for me. I got on the seat, got the other strap of my backpack on my shoulder, and pedaled home.

When I got there, I was pretty nervous. Usually I'm home right after school, sitting on the couch with Sarah or "Uncle G", watching a _How I Met Your Mother _marathon or some old movie on FX. Then my mom will come in, loaded with grocery bags from Whole Foods that we don't need, dad will be barging in, shouting about another student that had one-upped him in his psychology class, and, if she's having a good day, grandma will walk in with her quilt and a cup of coffee, plunk down on the armchair in the corner, and leaf through some old copies of _Highlights _that I'm pretty sure were next to that chair long before we bought the house.

However, when I got home this time, no one was there, to my relief.

Quickly as I could, I threw my backpack in its usual spot by the couch, switched on the TV to make it look like I had been watching it, grabbed a can of Orange Crush from the fridge, and walked into my bedroom.

And that's when it had sunk in.

Holy flippin' cow. The _FBI _had tracked me down. The flippin' _FBI. They _wanted _me _to work for them. As in, solve cases. Or, at the time, I had assumed that. Stupid, naïve me, going by what I'd seen on _Chuck. _

Anyways – I don't how long I sat there on my bed, holding a soda can and nervously glancing out the window every now and then, expecting to see Agent Henry Lunse crouching down, capturing my every move with a Nikon.

"Maxie?"

My mom's voice broke me out of whatever coma-like state I had been in and I jumped up eagerly; glad to not be alone anymore.

Pause!

Okay, I know at this point you're most likely thinking, _Max – what are you _doing_? These people aren't with the FBI! You can't trust them! _

Yeah, see, that's probably what I would have been thinking if _someone _(hint: Andrea!) had told me what I was doing. But I'd been fooled, tricked into an act that I had never expected to go as far as it did.

"Yeah, mom?" I jumped up from my bed and ran out into the hall.

Mom, dad, Sarah, and Uncle G were all resuming their usual positions: dad at his desk, sorting out a pile of textbooks he'd no doubt finish by Friday, mom in the kitchen, pulling out whatever necessary ingredients she would need for that night's dinner and setting them on the cooking island, Sarah at the coffee table, because, as she'd proclaimed several times before, she could not do calculus without _Curb Your Enthusiasm _playing in the background, and Uncle G loitering from room to room, trying his hardest to look inconspicuous before locking himself in the bathroom to sniff God knows what.

Mom looked up from her chopping board, knife in her hand. "Sorry we weren't here, sweetie; apparently we all ran a little late today."

I nodded.

"Do you get any homework done?" she asked, eyes narrowing. There goes my mom, amateur detective. She thinks she's Sherlock Holmes.

"Yup." I lied smoothly, trying to remember just how many subjects I had to do homework in. To be honest, homework wasn't exactly on my list of things I needed to worry about. More like on the list of concerns along with dust bunnies on the floor and not eating enough vegetables.

"Hey, Max, can I borrow-?" Uncle G asked, but was cut off by the ringing of the house phone.

I jumped at the chance to answer it, simply to avoid Uncle G, who I knew would ask how much money he could borrow from me without feeling guilty that later, he would spend it all on crack.

"City morgue, you kill 'em, we chill 'em." Was the greeting that came sliding out of my mouth. When had I gotten morbid?

"Hey, Max, it's Neal!"

_Neal_? What the hell was he calling _me _for? "Uh, hey man…" I didn't exactly want to tell him to go screw himself when my mom was practically a foot away.

"You're okay?" he asked, sounding relief.

"Uh, why wouldn't I be?"

"I saw you get like, kidnapped." His confession was whispered.

_Huh_? Ohhhh. Right. Everyone had seen me being chased by Henry and Erica. Wait. Could I call them Henry and Erica, or were they Agents Henry and Erica? Whatever, I guess it didn't matter.

"I wasn't kidnapped." I explained, and then stopped. I guess it _was _sort of like I had been, considering I hadn't exactly been willing to go to the police station to get interrogated.

"Then who were those guys?"

I guess at the time, I should have been grateful Neal sounded genuinely concerned for my safety and all, but what I said instead was, "They were for my grandmother. She's making a will." The fabrication was so out there, so stupid and very obviously flawed, but it was the only thing I could come up with that had some truth to it. My grandmother _was _making a will and my mom was right there in the kitchen, so it wouldn't be such a bold-faced lie.

"Oh." Neal sounded slightly relieved, and I felt a knot form in my stomach. He probably didn't believe a word of what I had just said, but he seemed to know to let it go.

"So…uh…I'm gonna go now," I mumbled, pacing back and forth across the floor as far as the cord on the phone would allow me.

"Wait!" Neal pleaded.

"Yeah?"  
"I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't…expect that to happen. I do want us to be friends and…"

"You know what?" I cut him off, surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth. "I want us to be friends too." Maybe it was just the ultimate sucky day I was having, maybe it was because for lunch that day they had served these really awesome tacos, _maybe _it was the fact that my life, as I knew it, was over – but I wanted to forgive Neal, even if he had been a complete and utter dick those past few weeks.

After all, he's only human.

I don't know exactly how long I waited for everyone to fall asleep that night, but once I was absolutely sure, I crept out of my bedroom, slipping on my jacket and padding down the stairs in my socks.

My bike was chained to the railing of our back porch and I quickly unlocked it, anxious to get out of there before "Uncle G" came out of the house with a joint again.

(I'd been sneaking out gradually for a few weeks now – always to the park, to practice. I was still too nervous to try anything at home, lest my parents or sister somehow magically put two and two together).

Once I was cruising down the street, I allowed myself to think about the first day of school…

* * *

_It was a bright and sunny day, and Mom was all fired up about my first year of high school and Sarah's last, so she made chocolate-chip pancakes and Uncle George stopped in the kitchen to nab a few. _

_We sat around the table and talked about future colleges to visit for Sarah and the prom, even though that was _months _away and then mom looked up dresses on her iPhone so I quickly scraped my plate and put it in the dishwasher before casually slipping outside. I didn't want to get caught in all that girly stuff. _

_It _was _beautiful outside; the sun hit everything in our yard in this perfect light, you could see the elementary kids walking in a line, holding their lunchboxes and laughing, our next door neighbor was already outside sipping a glass of lemonade and reading a Dan Brown book even though it was only seven in the morning and Santa Barbra was a pretty cool place to live, I had to admit. _

_I walked over to Mom's Honda and leaned against it, scrolling through the contacts in my phone. Even though Alaska wasn't nearly as cool-looking as here, I'd still had friends there. Nate, Melanie, Susan, Zach… I looked at all of their names and wondered what to text them. Maybe I could send a picture of our new house…maybe I could send a sweet little _wish I was there! _I got all sad when I pictured Nate and Melanie walking to school every morning like they always did, flirting, but pretending like they didn't have feelings for each other, Susan riding her skateboard and giving everyone the traditional _this is going to be a banner year _speech before they all walk inside the school, Zach, scoping out the new girls and trying to "impress" them with his work for Habitat for Humanity. _

_God, I missed them._

"_Max? Are you out there?" Sarah called, and I waved to her through the window impatiently. I just wanted to leave already. _

_Once Mom and Sarah finally made it outside the house, Uncle George appeared on the back porch, waving me over. _

_Sighing, I jogged over, and asked, "Yeah?" _

_He leaned closer, whispering in my ear and I could smell the stale liquor on his breath. "Have an awesome day, alright kid? And, uh, cover that puppy up." _

_Before I knew it, he'd slipped something into my pocket and I stepped back uncomfortably, thinking, _he did not just give me The Talk, did he?

_As mom and Sarah got into the car, I pulled out the wad of condoms and chucked them in the open window of Sarah's bedroom. Ha. _

_Mom dropped Sarah and I off ten minutes before school started. _

_Everyone was waiting outside on the lawn and I eyed all of the groups up, walking around. There wasn't the typical popular group, jock group, nerd group scenario like in every teen movie in the entire universe. _

_No, there were just groups of people. A hopefully – normal – school setting. _

_The first few classes were a blur – all new faces and introductions and having to tell everyone where I was from and having to explain that no, I did not have Sarah Palin as a neighbor. _

_When I got to earth science, we started on a meteorology lab right away, and I remember feeling nervous as everyone moved along extremely fast with theirs. I turned to the guy next to me: he had short, kinda sloppy, I-want-you-to-think-I-just-rolled-out-of-bed hair and blue eyes. _

"_Hey, do you understand this?" I asked urgently. "Because I really have like…no idea."_

_The boy smiled. "Me either." _

"_Wanna work together?" I asked. "I mean, well, everyone else has a partner and…uh…"_

_The boy laughed. "Alright." _

_I moved my chair closer and then said, "I'm Max." _

_The boy stuck out his hand for a shake. "Neal."_

_

* * *

_

Finally, I arrived at the park and I put my bike next to the bench where I always put it, and then walked around the little rectangle that served as the stomping grounds for the younger kids.

The sky was dark and starry and I was nervous, but I clenched my hand in my fist and tried to concentrate.

Andrea had told me that while rain, wind, and thunder were all cool things, maybe I should work on more challenging things, like not losing control.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and concentrated, as hard as I could.

Now I know in all of the movies and comic books and whatever the hell else superpowers are in, using your powers are quick, easy, and you master them basically as soon as you're gifted with them.

Trust me – it is _nothing _like that.

I'm sure someone's already mentioned my extremely embarrassing failure at stopping the rain from ruining the pep rally and causing a mini-hurricane of sorts to flood our entire ground floor in the school and cancelling the Beauty and the Beast play because of it.

Or when Neal and I got into that fight and the power went out – for like _a few seconds _– and everyone was talking about it for days.

Yeah. I've been working on it.

If you want a little Powers 101, here it is:

My hands shake uncontrollably, my teeth chatter, and once it starts, it's like I have no control.

Just ask Sarah – the other day, I wanted the remote to watch my new _Community _episode that I'd DVR'd, and she said…well, I'd really rather not repeat it, but it rhymed with "buck you".

So when the power flickered out and the cable box was nearly fried, dad blamed it on a short fuse.

Ha.

The wind casually picked up, and I tried not to get too excited, like I'd done before because that never resulted in anything good, and I concentrated harder, and soon I felt rain begin to _pour _down, practically in buckets, and then before I knew it I was picturing Andrea with Neal again, like I'd _told _myself not to do, because it always messed me up, and then…a bolt of lightning struck down and hit one of the poles that held the swing set up. I jumped back in astonishment.

_Well…that's new._

_

* * *

_

**The next day, November 18****th****, Tuesday, 7:08AM **

**(Adam's Opinion)**

No one's mentioned me yet? Really? Guess I should be thankful, being the "bad guy" in all of this.

Before you read any further, you should know – my mom had us really deep in debt. Dad had to literally hide the credit cards from her, and put them in odd places like the sugar bowl and behind this awful framed photo of the three of us at a Christmas party.

The stuff she bought was ridiculous, things we obviously did not need, and the one thing she did spend her money rightfully on was a therapy session.

Dad doesn't work the greatest-paying job out there. He's a _zookeeper. _We're not exactly raking in the millions. So every time he would get a check mom would somehow find a way to swindle some cash out of it, and next thing we knew we were sitting on some weird Japanese cushions and eating Ramen out of crystal bowls she'd purchased off QVC.

So, when it was the day before school started and I was riding my skateboard in the park, and this man and woman approached me, claiming to be FBI agents and offered me a paying job to spy on a boy named Max Perwitz…I took it. Don't say that you wouldn't, because if you were me, eating bowls of Rice Krispies for dinner because your mom spent all of your dad's last paycheck on ceramic, turkey-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers, then you'd take the job too.

It started out simple: infiltrate his circle of friends, were my instructions. Get close to him.

That part _was_ simple. Neal Potts was his only friend and one of Neal's friends was Eva. I got close to her – probably closer than I had intended – and then we were introduced to Max. Easy enough, as I only had to call the two agents and report back to them with all of the information I'd gathered. Most of the time it was little random bits and pieces, like that his Uncle George was a drug addict or that his dad wanted him to major in psychology too, even though Max wanted to be an EMT.

Of course what the alleged FBI "agents" don't tell you is that their second plan of action was more…emotional. Not only did they want me to gather standard information about Max, but they also wanted to know what he did in his spare time, how his family was, what were his grade averages, what about his friend, Andrea? The list went on and on. It certainly made me feel stalker-esque when I asked questions like _where do you buy all of your Artemis Fowl books _or _how many years did you go to summer camp? _What baffled me was, why didn't the agents just get this information themselves? Didn't the FBI have a lot of resources for these sorts of things?

I should have seen it coming, really. But it's my own dumb fault, I suppose, by getting lured into all this for cash. Maybe if I was a good person, maybe if I had let my mom drive both my dad and I deep into a debt we'd never be able to pay off, none of this would have happened.

Everything seemed easy these days, now that Max and Neal were not speaking to each other, so when I walked into the school's doors, twenty minutes early, I met up with Max at the library's information window, where Mr. Keefe was. Something definitely was up with those two, and, since it was my duty to earn the $5,000 per month that agents Henry and Erica gave me, it was my job to find out what it was.

"Everything alright?" I asked as soon as I saw him, noting the sweat on his forehead and the way his hands were twitching involuntarily. Of course I really knew what was up: just the other day, Henry and Erica had warned me they were setting the trap in on Max, whatever the hell that meant. They weren't telling me much of anything, except to focus on Max's actions and report every little detail back. Which I could do very well at this point.

"Of course," Max nodded, a bit too fervently. "Why wouldn't I be?"

A few months had passed since my job started, so by now lying was essential, easy to do and done quite often. So when I noticed the look of _oh my god does he know _on Max's face, I retreated by saying, "Oh, you know. Midterms. Substitute teachers. New snacks in the vending machines."

Max laughed. "Now that you mention it, it is pretty stressful on my life when the school board feels the need to take out my Debbie Snacks and replace them with organic granola bars."

I laughed too, and it was a genuine one. We started walking around the lobby, and the awkward moments of silence gave me an opportunity to observe the stares of the few people who had arrived to school early too. They didn't so much as give me a second glance (which, given my current situation, I have welcomed gladly) but _Max – _they gave him some weird looks.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer, and I turned to him and demanded, "Why is everyone looking at you like you're Charles Manson?"

Max played with the strap on his backpack, looking in all directions, for, what I assumed, a distraction. "Uh...I don't know man."

I shrugged, because that was my job. "So how are you and Andrea doing?"

Max ducked his head, as if suddenly the dusty floor was of great interest. "I..uh…I think that we broke up."

"You think?" I repeated, interested. It was no secret that Max and Neal practically had a competition going about who would get Andrea. Admittedly, even I liked Andrea a bit. She just had this _way _about her, but no way would I ever try and make a move on her; that would jeopardize everything I'd worked for.

Wow. That sounded weird.

Max sighed as we began walking up the three flights of stairs to sailing class. "Yeah, well…I caught her with Neal in the library."  
"Doing what, exactly?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what they were doing. Neal's a total horndog. He goes after every blonde girl on the planet.

"Making out." Max shuddered. "Who knows what else they would have done?"  
"Max." I looked him right in the eyes. "Nothing was going on with them." This, I knew for sure. Neal may go after every blonde within a five-mile radius of his, but I'd seen that look Andrea gave Max. I mean, we were in _ninth grade. _Love was a banned four-letter word that hardly ever escaped the lips of a kid our age, but Andrea…what I saw between her and Max…that was definitely love.

He shrugged. "I'll try and talk to her, but I doubt it'll do any good. She's going to move to North Carolina."

"North Carolina?" I asked, trying my best to sound shocked, surprised. The thing was, my job didn't only extend to Neal, Max, and his weird interactions with Mr. Keefe. I had to pay attention to _every single person _that Max came in contact with. I swear, if someone ever finds the mountain of composition notebooks - filled with paragraphs of useless talks about television shows that Max made- I'd stored in my locker, it will be the end of me. Anyways, I knew Andrea was going to have to move because she was always talking to Max about being tired, hearing her dad talk to someone on the phone late at night. She also couldn't watch a new episode of _CSI _that Max encouraged her to follow because her power got shut off. Add two and two together, and you figure the bills aren't getting paid because someone got fired. If the mom doesn't live with Andrea's family any more, then that means her dad got the boot. From what I know about hard-core intelligent girl families like Andrea's, the mom is always the breadwinner, not the dad. He probably works some blue-collar job and helps the kids with homework. Typical white-picket-fence family.

"Yeah, I know." Max shook his head. "It would be easier to work things out if she was only moving to someplace like Isla Vista."

We walked up to his locker, and then Max's eyes widened. Andrea was leaning up against it, backpack slung over one shoulder. Once she saw us, she started running towards Max, and when she was practically nose-to-nose with him, she whispered, "We need to talk."

This was my cue. "Uh, I gotta…pee…" I quickly speed-walked away, into the bathroom, and stepped into a stall. Carefully, I activated the bug that I'd placed on Max's backpack, with my earpiece (gadgets sponsored by your friendly neighborhood stalkers) and listened in.

"…sorry about it…"

"…me, too, but what you told me…"

"….I know. I'm trying to figure it all out."

Confused, I listened harder, squeezing my eyes shut tightly.

"I just want us to be together while we still can, Max. My dad says we may move next month, or even next year. I don't want to waste the rest of our valuable time fighting."

Oh gag. Where does she get her lines, _One Tree Hill_?

"Me either. But Andrea, I can't tell if what I'm feeling…really is what I'm actually feeling or if this is all just…fake."

"_I _think this is real."

"Hey, look. I want this to work just as much as you do, but we've got two big problems here and we have to solve at least one before I can think about us being serious." Max mumbled.

And that's when my line cut out.

"Crap." I whispered, trying everything to bring back the feed, but all I got was static. "It's not working."

"It helps if you eat bran," a voice from the next stall over offered.

"What?" I asked. Then I realized. "No, no! I'm not…_taking a dump_! I'm just…never mind." I don't remember exactly when I started having to justify my reasons behind getting my earpiece to work in a bathroom to a strange guy next to me.

The stall door squeaked open, and, apprehensively, I opened mine.

A guy with spiked, short brown hair and green eyes stared at me. He _looked _simple enough, wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and brown Pumas, but ever since I had taken the job, I learned to be wary of people that looked normal.

He gestured towards my ear. "Your feed kicked out?"  
Oh _crap_. "Uh, dude, I have no idea what you're talking about-"

The guy laughed. "Yeah, right. They approached me too, you know." His eyes scanned me up and down. "You're covering Max Perwitz, aren't you?"

I nodded, completely floored.

"I'm covering Casey Keefe." He stuck out his hand for me to shake. "Reid Simmons. What's your name?"


	4. A catch 22

A/N: This is just sort of a filler/boring chapter because I have to get this stuff out of the way. I don't really like this one :/ oh well!

* * *

"Just remember, the same as a spectacular Vogue magazine, remember that no matter how close you follow the jumps: Continued on page whatever. No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That's how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice. None of this matters. We're just warming up." – Chuck Palahniuk

**(Neal's Opinion)**

**November 8****th****, Tuesday, 2:22PM**

So I see that Adam was nice enough to label me as a horndog.

Thanks a lot buddy, I appreciate it.

Contrary to popular belief, I _am _a pretty decent guy. I just don't show it as often as I should.

So after my first meeting with the A/V guys, I was already planning on going back to see them again. How strange was that? I mean, yeah, we'd started this "investigation" on Max and the whole kidnapping thing, but it still felt weird to think, _oh, I've got a meeting today with the A/V club. _

Now I know Max was lying. Duh. People must think I'm an idiot, letting go of what I _know _was a forced confrontation. Those people wanted something, and by the looks of things, they still had him in on it.

I can't believe he thought I bought that crap story. His grandmother was making a will and so two uniformed people chased him halfway around the school? Okay and my name's Freddie Mercury.

When I walked into the A/V room, it was busy, just like the last time I'd been in it. Two guys with brown hair were standing by a giant TV, fiddling with an ancient VCR, a girl who didn't look too bad for an A/V geek was hunched over an iMac's keyboard, typing with the speed of a stenographer, and over by the windows were Steven and Ben. Steven wore a different Battlestar Galatica t-shirt, and Ben's glasses were even further down his nose today.

"Hey, guys, did you figure out who those people worked for-?" I started to ask, but Ben ran over, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and plunked me down in one of the leather chairs by the window.

"Dude – don't." Ben shook his head fervently. "Do you _want _people to hear us?"

"Assuming that question is rhetorical…" I leaned back in the chair.

"Look, Neal," Steven set down a pair of Bose headphones that had been in his hand. "We have to keep this on the DL, alright? If people see what we're doing we could get in _huge _trouble."

Before I go any further, I should probably get it out in the open that I have this thing I secretly refer to as the Jackass Disease, where you constantly spew out bits of information that make you look like, well, a jackass. And I can't function properly without getting what I want to say out in the open.

"Why can't people see us?" I asked, hearing the snide tone in my voice, but carrying on anyway. "No one's watching me; I don't see any Flip cameras around here."

Steven blinked.

"We have a…_private room_." Ben lowered his voice. "For this…thing that we're doing."

"Alrighty." I placed my hands on my knees and then rose up from my chair. "What are we doing here, then?"

Steven looked pointedly at Ben, as if to say, you _talk to him. _

"Well," Ben sighed. "We kind of need one more person to operate all of the machines and stuff…"  
Oh no. I knew what he was getting at. He wanted to add someone else to this little team of ours. No way. I was not going all _Ocean's 11 _just to get a thrill in people's lives. This was serious crap; Max could be in danger, his _family _could be.

"No way." I shook my head. "We can't trust anyone else."

"You trusted us." Steven retorted.

"We only need one person," Ben pleaded with me. "I'll even let you pick who. Everyone here is more than capable-"  
Steven cut him off. "You know what? We don't even have to ask you for your opinion because, fact of the matter is, if it weren't for us, you wouldn't have a _clue _on what Max is involved in. Not only that, but your intelligence to limited to the amount of calories ingested in a serving of Funions. We don't need you any more than we need Swine flu."

"So what you're saying is, you don't need me to pick anyone out?" I asked. "You're just going to add whoever on the team and they could be a traitor."

Steven threw his hands up in exasperation. "Pick whoever the hell you want, Neal, but you've got to know right now: _we _are in charge. Not you."

"Fine." I crossed my arms over my chest and then looked around the room, scanning over every single person until…

"Her." I pointed at the girl I'd seen when I walked in, typing on that iMac. "I want her."

Ben rolled his eyes.

* * *

**(Casey Keefe's Opinion) **

I miss being a teenager. Honestly, I do. Vividly, I can remember the days when I was happy and carefree and didn't have to worry about heartburn or paying rent on an apartment.

I remember being eighteen and telling my parents exactly where to shove it when they told me I needed to buckle down and go to college. I remember buying the first motorcycle I could find and handing over my life savings. I remember driving it all the way here, from Corpus Christi, Texas, to Santa Barbra, California. I remember getting my first glance of the beaches and palm trees and smiling, thinking I could be my own person now, without anyone holding me down.

Then – I remember meeting the love of my life.

Typical as all romantic stories go, I knew that as soon as I saw her, I needed to be a _man. _Men didn't shout obscenities at their parents. Men didn't drive around motorcycles at three in the morning just to grab a Moon Pie from the 7-Eleven.

_Real _men were learning, attending colleges and getting real jobs, raising families. So I did what I had to do – I filled out an application to UCSC and, surprisingly, I got in.

I remember feeling victorious as I graduated, throwing my arms around her, and hearing her say how proud she was of me. I majored in English, and I was lucky enough to have a school in a nearby county snatch me up and I got a position. I remember saving my first few paychecks and then selling that ratty motorcycle and buying a Honda Accord.

I remember house-hunting with her, purchasing a small little bungalow, _a preview, _I had promised because I knew that we would start a family and do the whole All-American deal, a big house with the fence and the tire swing hanging from the tree and we'd buy a dog and name him Roscoe and have two adorable little children.

Then one night, as we were both lying in bed, it happened.

I had never imagined anything ever happening to my future fiancé (I had bought the ring and everything) but then, in my dreams, I saw it. She was standing in line at a bank and three men came in with guns, shooting everyone but the clerk behind the counter. She fell down hard, and was gone in seconds.

When I awoke, screaming, she was concerned, wrapping me in a tight embrace and refusing to let go. I was grateful, glad she was tangible and not gone yet, like in my dream.

I knew right then that something was different about me because for the next four months, I did everything I could to prevent my future fiancé's inevitable death. It seemed like we would never be free of the curse – in my dreams she was constantly facing danger and losing every time. I saved her so many times from death, I'd lost count. Then one day, when we were at a Burger King, eating what saturated fats and high carbs now substituted as dinner, she leaned over the table, grinned, and said, "I'm pregnant."

I remember a grin spreading over _my _face as I lifted her up in my arms and squeezed her tight and then kneeled down on the extremely dirty floor, and pulled the engagement ring I'd been carrying around in my back pocket for two straight weeks, and asked, "Will you marry me?"

She said yes.

Unfortunately, I was too happy to notice anything else going on, because, nearly a year later, after she'd given birth and named our beautiful daughter Heather, she got in a car accident. I _knew _that I'd seen it, in my dreams, like every other death that I'd prevented. I _knew_ I'd ignored it because I didn't want to face the truth. I _knew _that I could have stopped her from going to Wal-Mart to pick up diaper cream. I _knew _that it was all my fault when I got a call from her parents, telling me she was dead, that it was a head-on collision.

I don't want to tell you her name, even now, because it _still _makes me feel that awful, gut-wrenching feeling when I got the call. I had protected her for so long; I'd forgotten what to do after.

That's when I was confronted by a group of people, posing as the FBI (I would later learn that they were not anywhere _near _the branch of such importance) and asking me to go into their office for a "little chat". If they had said _talk, _maybe I wouldn't have been so afraid, but they'd said _chat _and I knew that was what people told you before they put you in a car, lead you somewhere, and blew your brains out.

They didn't do that, but they did tell me that they knew what I could do, seeing what happens to people before it does in my dreams. They wanted me to help them, help them stop suicide bombings in Vietnam and rescue kids from abduction, but I told them that wasn't how it worked, and then the next thing I knew I was in a strange room, on a strange cot, being monitored behind a one-way window. I couldn't move, I couldn't talk…

That's when I woke up. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Heather in her crib besides me.

So, the fake-FBI confronting me was all a dream. I just _knew _it would happen to me – I didn't have _real _dreams anymore, ones that let you marry Halle Barry and play quarters with the cast of _The Breakfast Club_, so I grabbed Heather, packed up all of the necessities and then ran. We couldn't leave the state by airplane and I didn't think I could run anywhere else, so I met someone in a shady part of town, got fake IDs for my daughter and I and settled into a typical suburban house – still in Santa Barbra. Instantly, my new name was Casey Keefe, and my daughter's, Melissa Keefe.

I got a different job, at the high school, being a librarian's assistant. It barely covered the bills, but we got by.

And then, twelve years passed.

My daughter and I managed to avoid any sort of government problems. I paid in cash for most things, and I let her attend the elementary school, even though I had wished she would have just let me home school her, but she was eleven years old and wanted friends and to learn from someone who wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder.

For a long time, I had thought I was the only one. Gifted by an unknown, to see things before they happen. Maybe it was destiny. I had no clue.

That was when I met Andrea Portland.

I had known her before she started at Santa Barbra High (she used to volunteer in the library as part of a community service program) and I could see something was definitely _off _about her. This is probably just my way of saying I was attracted to a fourteen year old girl and I was in my early thirties. Definitely a recipe for disaster. But as I noticed her actions more and more, I realized it wasn't only me becoming attracted to her. The custodian, who could have easily been her grandfather, inspected her curves as she bent down to grab a dropped pencil. It was apparent that he didn't have any qualms about inappropriate relationships.

When I dreamed that night, it was of Andrea. I was in the library, sorting a pile of Jodi Picoult novels, when the custodian came in, oblivious that I was there, wheeling his little mop bucket and duster in, even though the library was practically sparkling. Andrea was off to the side, listening to music and taking notes off a website. Then, the custodian began to assault her. Before I knew it, I was up out of my chair and delivering punches so fast my hands blurred.

I woke up in a cold sweat.

Not surprisingly, the same thing I'd dreamed began to play out later that night, when everyone in the school had left and were out enjoying the freedom of the weekend. Andrea had told me she was staying behind to catch up on an overdue project. Something about social studies or something, I don't remember. Anyways, when I saw the custodian walking into the library, I felt my muscles tense. I couldn't just pounce on him; he hadn't done anything…yet. So, protecting Andrea of any harm, I quickly got up and brought her into the computer lab where I sat her down and asked her what the hell was wrong with her.

In retrospect, I probably should have worded that question better.

What she told me was...I can't think of a better word than astounding.

She told me that very recently; she had discovered this strange thing about her.

This had made me very hopeful. Stupidly, I had assumed she, too, could see glimpses of the future in _her _dreams, but I had obviously overlooked the fact that every man I saw walk past her, eyed her with the same look I was probably giving her then.

Apparently, this "gift" of hers was to be able to have guys fall at her feet.

They _loved _her. All of them. Fell head over heels.

I failed to see how this power had any uses. What would this grant her in life, besides a future of sexual assaults? But I _did _understand that this was new to her, strange, and slightly scary. So I told her what happened with me – every little detail. It certainly felt strange to tell my whole life story to a fourteen year old girl that I barely knew and felt…attracted to.

Of course I would feel awful if I didn't warn her about the supposed FBI agents, ones that wanted to use people for their own personal gain. To study them like guinea pigs. Not one person is safe. Then again, her powers were probably somewhat easier to keep under the radar than mine. Still, I had to make sure she knew the threats she faced.

From that moment on, I watched over her like I did with Heather, like she was my own daughter. She told me horror stories of rancid-smelling boys that attempted to kiss her and jokingly referred to me as "that guy from the Buffy show, Angel".

When she got to be a freshman, I found a young student that looked like he needed some guidance. Max Perwitz. He approached me the first day of school, wondering if we carried any James Patterson novels. Now, I have a great appreciation for James Patterson, so when I saw my opportunity, I took it. I asked him about his home life, his friends, his family, where he lived before he moved here. I could tell he was just like I had been around his age: obsessed with caffeine, altruistic, smart, but pretending to hate school, gregarious, and a little bit cynical – but I knew when most teens appeared to be cynics, it was just a defense mechanism.

Right around that time, though, I could tell those people were getting closer to my daughter and I. I saw the same, Petco van parked outside my neighbor's house for three days. Either they weren't sure how to approach me or there was a serious Dog Whisperer thing going on in that house. I couldn't leave Andrea behind; she was just getting used to all of this, and I needed to show her I was there. I couldn't make Heather leave her school behind, where she'd made so many friends, even if I could tell she didn't like having to lie about her real name. But I also couldn't stay; risk getting captured, and then leaving my daughter without a father. I had to protect not only myself, but Heather. Whatever these people wanted, I knew they wouldn't just return me back.

I forced myself to calm down, installing an alarm in the house, upping the security measures, even though I was pretty sure if they wanted to snatch me, they could just get in without triggering the alarms. Now, reflecting back on it all, I had only installed more security measures to console myself into thinking the inevitable would never happen.

Andrea then confessed to me that she had a feeling Max was one of _us: _a Special.

(Both Andrea and I had agreed to call ourselves "Specials", as an identifier. "Person with weird, unexplainable abilities" just didn't fit).

I kept a closer eye on Max, but nothing out of the ordinary seemed to happen until the flood. It was a pretty rainy day, right before some homecoming dance (as far as I was concerned, Heather was _never _going to one of those) and then, suddenly, water rushed through the halls like a tsunami. It was incredible to watch, I found myself thinking.

Andrea then told me her theory about Max having the power to manipulate weather, and I had shaken my head, laughing. It wasn't because I didn't believe her – I did – it was just…I felt so relieved that it wasn't just me and some young kid in the world that had some crazy stuff happening to them.

After an incident with Max and Neal and a power outage, I knew that Andrea no longer had a theory, but a proven statement. This Max kid was definitely a Special. So I never let on that I knew his secret, but I kept a very, _very _close eye on him. First Years (as Andrea and I had dubbed) were irresponsible, always looking obvious when using their abilities. Also, I wasn't too sure who could be after whom in this place.

It was up to me to find out.


	5. Who said I was normal?

**The best ammunition against lies is the truth; there is no ammunition against gossip. It is like a fog and the clear wind blows it away and the sun burns it off - Ernest Hemingway**

**

* * *

**

**November 8****th****, Tuesday, 3:00PM **

**(Steven's Opinion)**

Technology is amazing. Today we, as a society, are so accustomed to it that we wouldn't know what to do if suddenly Google or facebook were destroyed, gone forever. We'd have to resort to books for our information and actual face to face contact for communication – and who truly knows how to use a reference book correctly? Probably your parents, your grandparents. Certainly not you or even your friends.

Technology is a gift, meant to be cherished.

Thankfully, Santa Barbra High School feels the exact same way. They have supplied the A/V club with so many expensive gadgets; I often wonder where they get the funding.

Neal had picked Samantha for our "team" of sorts (should have seen that one coming), and Ben had revealed the secret room to both of them. If you're wondering why it's a secret, it's because my mom happens to be…romantically involved…with one of the janitors, who _may _have access to the boiler room and who _may _have let us unload a bunch of tech equipment into it.

So anyways, this whole idea of Neal's was slightly unbalanced, to say the least. I mean, I had totally believed him after we ran that agent Erica's picture through the software, but it could mean a number of things. Our plan was loosely based off the plot line of _Ocean's 11. _

Oh, and right now, I'm listening to yet _another _argument between Neal and Ben. We'd _just _started our first meeting– only forty-five minutes had passed – and already, Samantha and Neal were constantly bickering.

"Look, I'm _just saying _that planting a button cam is not going to help us." Samantha crossed her arms over her chest.

"How?" Neal asked in exasperation. "We'll see where he's going, what he does. How is that not going to work?"

"I just think it would be easier to have one of us tail him! And since I am the only one here who can operate a motor vehicle-!"

"_Really? _You can't just say _drive _like a normal person? You've got to be all superior about _everything_?"

"Coming from the guy who constantly acts like he's better than everybody!"

"I do not!"

"_Yeah – _ya kinda do!"

Ben watched the argument back and forth, like a tennis match. All he needed was a tub of popcorn and he'd be all set.

"_Guys," _I tried, but I was simply ignored.

"Alright, _fine,_ maybe I should just go!" Neal rose to his feet. "Maybe you don't need me! After all, I _am _the only one who knows anything about Max. You guys are just doing this because I asked who the people chasing him were! You don't really give a rat's ass about any of this!"

"That is _not _true!"

"Oh, really? Because it certainly looks like it."  
"You _just _met me! This is our first meeting!" Sam protested.

"May as well be our last."

"Alright – that is _it_!" I got up from my chair and stepped between them. "No more of this crap. Look, Neal, we get that you're upset about Max and what is happening to him. We're trying to find out exactly what that is and in the meantime, we need a few more people because two A/V kids aren't going to find everything on their own. And Sam, yes, we understand that you're a junior and currently have a license. But I'm a sophomore and in driver's ed so technically, I can drive too. So if you have a superiority problem, then you may as well just leave now because we are all in this together."

Neal groaned. "Please tell me you did not just quote _High School Musical." _

Confused, I turned to him. "Is that a movie?"

Sam rolled her eyes.

"So _sit down_-"I glared at Neal until he did so-"and listen to me."

Ben nodded in agreement.

"And, uh, Sam?" I turned back to her. "We may have some pretty great technology in the A/V club, but we don't have button cams."

"Really?" Sam asked incredulously. "You have facial recognition software but you don't have cameras disguised as buttons?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "If you have a problem with our funding you should take it up with the principal."

Sam reached for her jacket that she'd slung over a nearby chair. "You know what? I will."

I waited until she had her hand on the doorknob for me to say, "But we do have audio clips, of sorts. Sort of like wires, but designed as everyday objects." I flashed back on the moment earlier in the day when Max had left his backpack on a table in the cafeteria and I'd removed the Converse pin from the front pocket and replaced it with one exactly like it.

I could always get my mom to chip in some money so we could get some cooler gadgets, but until then, muffled static and incoherent voices would have to suffice.

Twenty minutes later, we all sat around the table in the middle of the room, reaching into a bag of Bugles and listening to the audio feed. First, there was the muffled static, as I'd mentioned, and then the meaty bodyguard's voices (you can always tell when guys have the muscle because their voices have a gravelly sound) but then, you could hear Max and Agent Erica.

"I'm not going in the same room as yesterday?"

"No…" Agent Erica replied smoothly. Something about female agents always bother me. It's like they're up to something.

"And I kinda need to be home before dinner because my parents will get suspicious-!"

"No need to worry about that, Maxwell"-Neal snorted-"we have put two of our best spies in the field, to keep your parents busy."

There was a beat of silence, then, "Seriously? So you have people pretending to be preschool assistants and psychology majors?" Samantha looked at me strangely, but I knew that Max's mother, Cassandra worked as a preschool teacher, and his father, Sam, was a psychology professor at SBU. Hey – no judging. I just know people.

"Pretty much, yes. Is this a problem?"

"I didn't say it was!"

For the next few minutes it was just boring talk about clearance, codes, and proper uses of tranquilizer guns (what?) but I'll spare you the extremely boring details.

It got interesting when the male agent, whose name we still didn't know said, "Max, we want you to help us out. You have been gifted! Think of all the amazing things that you could do to help this world."

Sam, Neal, Ben, and I all stared at each other. _Gifted _could be a number of things, but I'm pretty sure at the time I was the only one thinking it had something to do with the supernatural. I guess that makes me seem a little snooty, I guess, thinking I know what it is off the bat and then being right. I can assure you that I am very modest about most things.

"This _world_?" Max croaked. "I can't even cook yet!"

Sam snorted.

"Max..." Agent Erica was speaking now. "I believe – I mean, _we _believe that you can do great things."

There was silence, and then Max muttered, "What kind of great things?"

"Well Max…let us show you."

To quote one of the most overused lines in Hollywood history: _I have a bad feeling about this. _

**(Andrea's Opinion)**

Wow. Steven still eats _Bugles_?

Anyways.

So I know what you're probably thinking: that Max let me off easy and now we're going to be together again and it was all because of our true love for each other.

Well, you are _so _wrong.

I wish my life could be as cookie-cutter as a Nora Roberts novel, but unfortunately, it seems to just want to spiral out of control lately.

What really sucks is that Santa Barbra is awesome and North Carolina isn't. Or at least, it probably isn't. I guess I'd already made up my mind about how much it would suck.

In some small, unexplainable way, moving seemed like a getaway. I absolutely did not want to leave, but, thinking about it, it was almost like a renewal card. You got to start over and no one would know who you were or anything. Leaving Max behind would be a huge deal, but if I did…I wouldn't have to deal with talking to him about our situation.

Oh, never mind…

Ugh! Back to what I was saying – when I got home that day, I shoved my phone in one of my desk drawers, just to avoid answering text messages. The only thing I wanted to do was text Max but I couldn't. There was just this weird thing about it.

Then Rob and I looked at more houses online. The sad thing was, I was pretty content to just sit there and click that mouse for two hours straight while Rob wrote his favorites down on a Post-It. We both agreed on a big Victorian deal with – of course – an in ground pool. It was right next to the high school, which would be pretty useful for Rob in about two years. The thing was – I didn't _want _to like the Victorian. I didn't _want _to admire the pool or the six bedrooms and the bay window that overlooked a _wonderful _backyard, complete with a garden. I didn't _want _to think living next to the high school would be easier on me because then I could get more sleep. I didn't _want _to like anything about moving, but…I did.

When dad got home, we showed him the house.

"Wow." He leaned back in the computer chair. "You guys really know how to pick 'em."

Rob beamed. "There's a pool, dad. Look at the pool!"

While they both marveled over that, I wandered back into my room and stared at the pile of books on my desk. I was supposed to be reading Kite Runner for global, but I didn't think I could focus on anything for more than thirty seconds. It was like I'd had one too many Red Bulls. I anxiously paced back and forth across my carpet, wringing my hands and trying not to listen to Rob and dad, but I could hear it all.

"…reasonable pricing for a place like that…"

"…right next to the high school, too…"

"…perfect size…"

"…plenty of places for Andrea…"

At this, I burst out of my bedroom and into the living room, and demanded, "What about me?" I didn't why I felt so nervous at the time. Reflecting back on it now, if I had asked Casey, he would have said that I was having a premonition. _Ha. _If only my power were as simple as knowing what was going to happen next before it did.

Dad turned around and palmed the back of his neck before speaking. I knew that move. He was going to say something upsetting again. _Please, _please, _tell me that we're not moving early, _I begged him mentally.

"There's a lot of nice places for you in North Carolina," He began, and I _knew. _I just _knew _he was going to say something bad. "I actually…have a job interview set up next month. I'm going to fly out."

"Next _month_?" I screeched in disbelief. Was I really going to be leaving everything behind so soon?

Dad's expression seemed to soften. "Andy," he forced a small smile. "Even if I _do _get the job, we won't be moving for a while. We still have to get a house and, well, a lot of other things."

"It's in Raleigh!" Rob blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth, as if this information were a secret.

Well, what I did care? I _didn't. _

_I didn't _want _to. _

"Which really will work out, because so is this house." Dad pointed at the screen and I looked at the house and glowered. That _stupid _house. The one I was _supposed _to hate, but really, really _liked. _

"What about mom?" I asked, and right then, I knew I'd done it. But honestly, did they expect me to just pretend like it hadn't happened? Maybe they wanted to forget about it and jet off to somewhere else, but there was no way I would leave Santa Barbra behind without making sure mom wasn't going to come back. Mom had left us – and not too long ago. She hadn't left a note or some sort of sign or anything and usually she was the type to be all mysterious about where she was going, leaving a drawing of an ice cream parlor on the refrigerator door. _I was at Carvel's, _she had explained hastily when dad demanded to know where she had disappeared off to.

Rob looked down at his Vans and muttered, "Aw, Christ."

I immediately turned to dad, expecting him to get some sort of reprimand for "swearing" (I mean, we were all agnostic, so it wasn't like it was against our _religion, _but still) but all he did was put his head in his hands.

I felt my stomach turning, and I put my hands over it, hoping that if I squeezed hard enough it would take away the guilty feelings that were starting to surround me.

For a few moments, dad and Rob sat in silence – I was standing – and then dad lifted his head and I saw it.

Now, I've never seen my dad get emotion about _anything._ Not even when my grandmother passed away because of a heart attack. He was always very stoic.

But that time, when I stood there in the living room, fingers laced over my stomach, Rob next to dad, still looking down at his shoes, he got emotional. That _one _time and I will never, ever forget it.

Tears ran down his face in quick succession as he struggled to speak. Once he did, it was very soft and obstructed by emotion.

"Andrea…" he paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "I want nothing more than for your mother to come home. But kid, she's…she's not going to. She's obviously made up her mind about what she wants to do with her life. I'll try and get in contact with her so she'll know where we are, but it's…it's…" he stopped, and let out a shaky laugh. "It's not looking too good. I…we…really need this, Andy. Just…let it be." And with that, he stood up, and sunk down into a chair in the kitchen, staring at the wall.

Rob looked over at him, then back at me, and then at him again. "_Christ." _He repeated.

"Watch your mouth," I scolded, and then went into my room, jumped on my bed, covered myself with a quilt, and let out a big sob that I'd been holding in for weeks.

**(Max's Opinion) **

Andrea really screwed things up, huh?

I'm just kidding.

So anyways, it was the next morning – Wednesday – and I woke up extremely early. Way too early, I noted, when I rolled over on my sheets, glanced at the clock, and saw that it was four-thirty in the morning.

I had nothing else to do and I couldn't go back to sleep even though I tried and tried and _tried – _so I got up and wandered around the kitchen, rummaging through drawers and the fridge until I finally settled on a glass of chocolate milk and some expired Oreo cakesters.

I sat down at the kitchen table and leafed through a back issue of _Consumer Reports._

My second meeting with the FBI had gone alright, and I'd even shown them my cool new lightning trick, though I was apprehensive at first. They told me we would meet again the next week and I'd breathed a sigh of relief. It was pretty cool living the _Jake 2.0 _fantasy, but it was also very, very nerve-wracking.

School was actually okay for once, too. Maybe global class wouldn't be _awful _as I'd thought it would be in September and maybe in earth science we would get a steady teacher, but Adam and I both doubted it.

Thinking of earth science reminded me of Neal and I wondered if he was alright and what he had been doing these past few weeks and if _he _had thought of _me. _I wondered if his dad was okay, too, or if he'd had another relapse, like Neal had described happening in the middle of a crowded Wendy's once.

Thinking of Neal reminded me of Adam, who I'd been hanging out with every day the past month, and then thinking of _Adam _reminded me of _Eva. _

So.

Here's the crazy thing.

I called Eva.

It was four…four thirty-seven in the morning and I was reaching for my LG Neon to call Adam's ex-girlfriend.

Here's the other crazy thing.

She picked up.

She picked up, and I could hear System of a Down playing loudly in the background and I _loved _them so of course the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "I love Aerials, too!" which is probably their best song, ever.

Eva laughed. "Uh, yeah, so do I. What are you doing up?"

It should have surprised me that she was up so early – and listening to music so loudly – but it didn't, and I replied, "Eating expired food and reading boring magazines."

"Story of my life." Eva laughed again.

Wait. I should probably mention Andrea.

So just the other day she had approached me and said she wanted us to be together because we might not have that much time anymore and yadda yadda yadda, but I didn't feel that way. I didn't want Andrea to think that everything was just going to be _okay _after she fooled me for so long. How would I even know if our…_likeness? Like? L-l-_love? Was real if I didn't stay away for a few weeks, just to see what would happen?

Oh, believe me, it _wasn't _easy. I was freaking out and it was only day one. I wanted to call her up and talk to her for hours about the plotline of _Inception, _I wanted to hold her warm, soft hand through the hallways and have everyone staring with jealously because I got the most beautiful girl in the school, and they _didn't. _I wanted to kiss her and hold her tight and _never let go_ but…

I couldn't.

"So what are _you _doing up, then?" I asked, grimacing as I ate the last cookie out of the package. _Who the hell invented these things? _

"Well, I _was _watching some super-cheesy Syfy movie but then I remembered I had to type up my global essay and I couldn't fall asleep so I thought, 'why not'?"Eva sounded happy, and I smiled, because at least someone was.

"I love cheesy Syfy movies!" I gushed. "I used to watch them with my sister Sarah all the time!"

I could hear the tapping of keys from the other end, and then Eva said, "So, what do you think of our assistant principal?"

She was talking about Mr. Turner, who I – and pretty much everyone else – had assumed was a former Marine. He walked with ramrod-straightness and spoke clear and firmly. It would have been alright, I guess, except for the fact that he decided to monitor my English class for some stupid project the actual principal had him on.

"He's creepy." I offered, and this spun us into an hour-long conversation about school and the latest fail at a pep rally and the banning of us being able to read _Catcher in the Rye _even though last year I had heard the juniors read it. When we started debating the drinking fountains near the bathrooms and the only one that ran cold water by the auditorium, I yawned.

"Ooh," Eva teased. "Someone's tired."

I stared down at my plate and realized that somehow during the conversation I'd eaten all the little crumbs that had fallen from those stupid cakesters and hadn't even tasted them.

"Yeah." I stifled another yawn. "I guess I am."

"Why don't you go on back to sleep, then?" she sounded concerned, she sounded like my _mom, _so I nodded, even though she couldn't see me and went into my room and flopped down on my bed and kept talking.

I woke up the next morning with my phone in my hand.

It didn't surprise me much when Eva stood by my locker that morning, a DVD case under her arm, and she showed it to me. It was _Dinocroc Vs Supergator _and it was really, _really, _lame but it was perfect and I told her yes, I _would _like to watch it with her.

At my house.

With my parents there.

And Sarah.

And Uncle G.

So we did.

And we ate Pop Secret out of a giant fourth of July bowl mom unearthed from a dusty box in the basement for the occasion and then we played Clue and charades and Sorry and Monopoly and Sarah won, crowing with glee as she snatched up all our paper money and threw them in the air and we all laughed, because it was funny.

And then Eva's mom called and we waited on the front porch for her and Eva pointed out the Big Dipper even though I didn't still didn't see it after countless times of showing me and then Eva's mom pulled up in her big van and Eva jumped off the porch, but hugged me before she did, and then, later that night, I lay in bed and thought about her.

_Crap._

_

* * *

A/N: Thank you all sooooo much for your reviews! I'm also a little wary of this chapter, but hey, it is what it is. _


	6. Involuntary Volunteer

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. ~Winston Churchill

**November 9****th****, Thursday, 11:08AM**

**(Neal's Opinion)**

So I bet you're wondering how me and the A/V guys were doing.

Well, let me just say now - I _was _popular. Well, I mean, not _popular _(our school was never the popularity kind) but well liked. I _was. _As soon as people caught me with Steven and Ben and the rest of those guys that wear plastic glasses and use calculators more than their cell phones I was blacklisted. You know that old adage about "you know who your true friends are" when some big disaster goes down or whatever? That's kind of what happened with me. A bunch of guys on the lacrosse team avoided me like the plague and even my ex, Susan, completely ignored me when I smiled and waved at her.

I guess when Tommy Turner, an obnoxious volleyball player – yes that's right, here in Santa Barbra, the cool guys play _volleyball _– smacked Ben's notebooks out of his hands and onto the floor, shouting, "Hey, suckass, you dropped something!" I shouldn't have been surprised.

But I was. I thought that whole bullying crisis crap happened…elsewhere.

Maybe I should have thought my plan through.

I turned around to face Tommy. "Hey – piss off!" I shouted back, and kneeled down to help Ben pick up his scattered supplies.

Wrong move.

Before I knew it I felt a sharp pain in my side and I was knocked on my back, staring up at the florescent lights.

"Come on," Ben pleaded, holding up his palms in surrender. "We're not trying to start anything."

"The hell you were!" Tommy snorted. He looked down at me all threatingly, but I wasn't having it. I jumped up and got all in his face – _second _wrong move – and said, "Maybe you shouldn't have been messing with my friend," thinking I was all cool and smooth. The way my back had met the linoleum floor should have been an obvious indicator that no, I was not being smooth, at all, in any way, shape, or form.

"Maybe _you _shouldn't be starting things with _my _friend!" a voice joined the fray, I'm assuming it was one of Tommy's friends, but I never found out because moments later we're all in this big, jumbling mess of punches and kicks and shouts of curse words _I'd _never even heard and Mr. Keefe comes along and tries to break it up but I think I must have hit him (I couldn't tell though, 'cause I was swinging blindly in an attempt to get out of the death grip one of Tommy's friends had me in while Tommy took his turn socking me in the gut and Ben attempted to get him off) because then I heard the principal's voice and she was saying something like, "Break it up!" but everything just sounded muffled and hollow and I lowered my arms and just let Tommy have his revenge or whatever the hell he called it.

The last thing I did hear before blacking out was Ben yelling something about "unconscious".

* * *

When I woke up I was in an ambulance.

I'm not kidding.

I was in an _ambulance. _

There I was, trying to protect Ben's honor and all, and I land myself in an _ambulance. _

Here's the other funny thing:

Ben was sitting right beside me…staring.

"Uh…hi." I croaked, putting a hand over my eye. It was bright in there.

"You're up!" he shouted.

I wanted to tell him that yes, I was up, and my eardrums would then be forever shattered by the volume of his voice, but I closed my eyes and forgot.

* * *

**(Max) **

I heard about the fight during English class.

"You were there, right?"

"Yeah!"

"He got sent to the _hospital, _Mandy! On a _stretcher_!"

I turned around in my seat, ignoring my essay on _Of Mice and Men. _"Who got in a fight?"

"Um…" the redhead looked at me strangely. "Tommy Turner and Neal Potts."

I felt myself begin to panic. Neal got in a fight? "Who was the one that got sent to the hospital?" I asked, fearing the answer.

"Neal."

_Crap. _"Is he alright?"

The redhead shrugged. "I dunno."

I raised my hand, asked to go to the bathroom, and once I was safely inside a stall, I dialed Neal's number.

Voicemail.

_Crap. _"Hey, Neal, it's Max...Dude, I heard you got in a fight and you're in the hospital? I mean…God…are you okay? Tell me you are. Text me or something."

I hung up and put my phone back in my pocket slowly.

Suddenly, I felt awful. I could have stopped this. Somehow. Someway. Neal could be seriously hurt and sure we were sort of okay after our fight and not exactly best friends anymore but damn it if I had to fight for him, I would.

It's not until I'm stepping out of the stall that I noticed the guy sitting on the windowsill. He eyed me disdainfully. "Dude"-he shook his head-"you didn't _flush_."

I felt my cheeks turning red. "I didn't…"

The guy laughed. "Relax, kid. I'm just teasing you."

"_Kid_?" I asked incredulously. I gave him a once-over: he had pale skin, short blonde hair, and hazel eyes. He wore simple jeans, a _Phoenix _t-shirt, and black converses.

"Yeah." He hopped off. "Kid. You're what, fifteen?"

"Hey!" I said in indignation. "You're what, _sixteen_?"

The guy shrugged. "Twenty-two, but close enough."

I didn't get it. "So…were you like held back or something?"

The guy sighed, smiling. "I'm here to help you, Max."

"And you are…?" I asked, hesitantly.

The guy smiled. "My name's Will."

"Okay…Will…" I said slowly. "What are you doing in a bathroom then?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Max, you have so much to learn."

I opened my mouth, about to ask him just what that was, when the door squeaked open and a short freshman wandered in, clutching an agenda and mumbling something about tuna casserole being served for lunch.

I turned back around to face Will, but he was gone.

* * *

**(Will) **

Do you know what annoys me?

Teenage kids.

_God, _they annoy me. More than anything in the entire world.

Granted, I was one not _that _long ago, but just talking with them bugs me.

I guess I should explain my part in this story.

Well – here goes.

I'll skip all of the boring "my mom and dad loved each other very much and decided to put all that love together and make a baby" rant. My real story begins in Sydney, Australia.

At just seventeen years old, my life was thoroughly beginning to suck. I grew up in a great neighborhood, with great friends, and great places to go. That was just it. It was _too _perfect and after a while, the people I'd seen as modest and sophisticated were really just obnoxious and as immature as I had been at the time, throwing their money away like it were nothing. When I refused to join in on some sort of hazing ritual for the new kid on our lacrosse team, the people I'd thought were my friends bailed, and the next thing I knew I was targeted. It was like I had a freaking sign taped on my back that said, _here I am! Please, insult me! Shove me into lockers! Throw my textbooks in the girls' bathroom! _

It wasn't like I was suicidal or anything, but I did contemplate leaving. I even packed a duffel bag with all my important belongings and stowed it away in my closet. A backup plan.

When I was involved in yet another fight one day, I closed my eyes and _prayed _I could just disappear.

Which was exactly what I did.

It was like…I was there, getting the crap kicked out of me, and then…all the guys were staring at me…except they weren't. One of 'em got all wide-eyed and started shouting something about me disappearing, which I obviously hadn't, and was a little offended they'd resorted to the ignoring stage, when I looked down, and realized – holy _crap _– that I _had _disappeared. I couldn't see my own hands! I flipped my palms upward and came to the conclusion that I was hallucinating.

It happened again during dodge ball when I was the last one standing and there were still eight guys on the opposing team, all of them belonging to the football team.

One minute they were about to pummel me and the next, I was gone.

"Hey!" demanded the biggest one out of all of them. "Where the hell did he go?"

Yeah.

Invisibility.

A power to be invisible.

People always say that if there was _one power out there, I'd want invisibility… _Yeah, don't _ever _wish that. Seriously. Stop thinking about it. Right now.

It's awful. No joke. Tell me, when you're on a date with the most amazing girl you've ever met, and you suddenly shimmer out of view when she leans over to kiss you, that you want the power of invisibility. Tell me, when you're at an awards ceremony for getting straight A's all year in Spanish, and you don't accept your plaque because you're so nervous to walk on that stage, you _literally _disappear.

It took me about a year and a half to get it under control, and by that time I was in college, just barely scraping by with the typical dinners of Ramen and Pop-tarts.

It was also right around that time that I was approached by these stuck-up Brooks Brothers suit wearing men, and they _knew _about me.

That was when I dropped out and fled back home.

My parents were _pissed. _

Try explaining to your parents that you dropped out of college because some psycho guys confronted you when you were walking out of your English literature class to ask if you'd like to take a ride with them back to their office and show them what you can do.

Yeah. I didn't think so.

Suffice to say I spent the next three years paying off my debt to my parents by getting a low-paid, practically mediocre job working on the Geek Squad at Best Buy. Hey, I was pretty smart.

Then they found me.

So I grabbed that duffel bag I'd kept stored away all those years, bought a plane ticket to the states, and ran into a guy, Casey Keefe, at a bar, in the bathroom.

Yeah, I know…it's like…why do so many confrontations happen in _bathrooms_?

Anyways.

So I slipped (instinctively, I went invisible when Casey opened the bathroom door) – and he saw me right before I did, and he brought me back to his house and filled me in on everything and about this Max kid and how I needed to save him from danger or something along those lines.

So here I am. Saving this kid.

* * *

"Will?" Max asked hesitantly, looking all around the bathroom.

I chuckled. It never gets old.

He kept pacing back and forth, mumbling under his breath, when I saw that creeper kid _finally _exit the bathroom, and I made myself appear again.

Max whipped around. "Dude – what the hell?"

I shrugged. "I didn't want him to see me."

"Oh my God." Max leaned up against the wall and slowly slid to the floor, running a hand through his hair.  
Ugh. Now do you understand why I can't handle this? I mean, come on, _he _should be sympathizing with _me. _I'm the one that had to run away from my home, all the way to this country to avoid getting _hunted down _by these psycho freaks, and _I'm _the one having to explain what I don't even know to a fifteen year old that barely knows much about anything? Is there justice in this world?

But, because I put my full trust in Casey, and, well, because he'd been letting me stay in his garage, I slid down to the floor too, and said, "Hey…it's alright. Come on, stop it. You're gonna be fine."

Max looked up at me worriedly. "How can you be so sure?"

Damn. Caught my weakness within the first ten minutes of meeting me. "Look, kid, I'm not. I'm not sure about anything going on with you. But I do know this: you can't trust _anyone. _Someone told me…you're different. Special. And we need to be careful about who we talk to, okay?"

Max shrugged. "Alright. But…what do we do now?"

I sighed. "No idea."

* * *

_A/N: Oh my God, so it's been a while since I've updated and I've actually been busy enough to say I'm busy. You know...homework...track team...lunch. Oh, and how much do you love Will? I had so much fun writing him in. Sometimes I wish my characters were real, ya know? Ooh, tell me: if you could have any of these characters be real in your life, which one would you choose and why? :) _

_Anyways, so bullying...bad. Don't do it, kids. _


	7. You Just Got Inceptioned!

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that's all - Oscar Wilide

* * *

**November 9****th****, Thursday, 1:11PM**

**(Casey)**

Alright, alright! I know you're probably thinking that while everyone is supplying you with boatloads of information about their pasts and what went on, it's _extremely _vague. I get that. So I'm going to interrupt Will's little segment with the less-vague, somewhat clarifying version.

I didn't tell you about Will or how I met him or why or how we all ended up making a little team of our own and, well, I'm still not going to tell you because I have a life and that would honestly take way too long to tell.

I didn't say I would be less vague, did I?

Anyways, so I was handing out travel brochures to some seniors for a project, and trying to get my mind off Max's friend, Neal.

The fight that had happened earlier was intense and I'd tried to break it up, but it was way too far gone for any sort of saving, and at that point, I felt so…awful. That kid…that poor kid…he was bleeding from his lip and his forehead and one eye was shut and the other was open and then he fell onto the ground and the boys surrounding him backed away and the Ben boy, from the A/V club, started babbling on about unconsciousness and who had called it as such and when doctors started using the term and I don't even know…he was rambling on for a while. The ambulance arrived and then the boys were led out in handcuffs and the teachers were all walking up to me and asking questions, but it all sounded muffled. Isn't it crazy? Me, a teacher, freaking out. You always see teachers calm and collected, there to help and sometimes stand up for what's right and I just _stood _there.

Then, right when I was seriously considering slipping some sort of alcohol into my coffee, Max walked up to me.

"What is your problem?" he hissed, looking to his left and then his right, where the seniors were all laughing loudly over some video.

"My problem?" I asked, even though last night's dream had told me he and Will would soon meet. Of course, I'd instructed Will to get a move on before anything _really _bad happened, but I had never told him a specific date and time. After all, he was sleeping in my garage with no place to go. I figured I'd let him do it on his own time. I'd had no doubt Will's sudden appearance would disrupt his life, as it would with all of ours. There was still Andrea that I had to introduce him to, and whoever else I could find.

"Yeah, _your problem," _Max continued. "You let Neal get hurt so bad he had to be sent to the _hospital_?"

Though I still felt awful about that, I felt relief flood through me. At least Max was still unaware of all that was going on. If he wasn't mentioning Will it meant we still were on the same basis we were before. Which meant everything was running smoothly.

"I'm sorry Max," I looked over at the clock on the wall. My work shift didn't end until five-thirty, unfortunately, because I'd been put in charge of the debate team and honestly, I had no idea how to handle sixteen testosterone-charged sophomores shouting at one another.

"No, don't tell me that!" Max threw down his backpack on a nearby table. "I have no idea how he's doing or what exactly happened. All I know is, he got the _crap _kicked out of him while you just…stood there! You're supposed to be on my side, always giving me advice like you're my conscience."

I stifled a laugh, picturing Max as Pinocchio. "Max, I _am _on your side. I tried to help Neal, but it was getting very rough and when I tried to pull him away, he hit at me and I fell back and then…I stopped trying. Someone called the police and then the ambulance arrived."

He seemed to calm down a bit after I used my "inside voice". "Sorry…I've just been having a hell of a day."

Ignoring the use of curse words during school hours – especially in the library – I said, "Alright." I slid a pamphlet of _Boston, Pennsylvania, _to him (soon he would have a project in global, similar to the ones the seniors were working on now) and smiled. "Tell me about it."

So he did. He started with Andrea and how she would have to move to North Carolina because her dad had lost his job (again, something I'd already seen in my dreams, and was taking great measures to prevent for the time being…don't ask) and then proceeded to tell me a very detailed synopsis of his date with Eva, which apparently _wasn't a date _when I called it as such. The crisis was supposed to be glaringly obvious –he had said after I stood there awkwardly - : Max had feelings for this Eva girl, who was Adam's ex. Who was Adam again? I mentally added him to my list of "kids to watch out for". For all I knew, he could have been one of us.

"So what do you think I should do?"

"Huh?" I snapped out of my daydream.

"Do you think I should try to work it out with Andrea or hang out with Eva?"  
Well, duh. Andrea. She was beautiful. Then again, we were all under her spell of sorts, so there was probably no way to ever be sure if that love was a true thing. Which was obviously Max's dilemma.

"Maybe you should venture out," I suggested, which, yet again, was a vague answer. But what could I say? _Go, be with the girl I'm attracted to so I can be extremely jealous from afar? _I couldn't help it; that was just the way it was.

"Got it." Max nodded his head, plucked the pamphlet off the desk, and then reached for his backpack. When he walked out, I saw Andrea, who'd been crouched down by the mysteries section. She watched him leave and then directed her gaze at me.

"What?" I asked, throwing up my hands.

* * *

**(Adam) **

Hello? I have a part in this story too, you know.

So I'm going to dial it back a bit and tell you what happened after Reid and I met.

* * *

"My name's Adam." I took his hand and shook it.

Reid nodded and stepped back a bit, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling.  
"So…uh…" I cleared my throat. "I've kinda got to get to class."

Reid rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"  
"Well, yeah," I narrowed my eyes at him. "Don't _you _have to get to class?"

He shrugged.

"What grade are you in?" I asked curiously.

"Oh." He beamed. "I'm a senior."  
Well that explained it. The seniors here didn't do much beside skip class and smoke cigarettes in the bathroom.

"And you're a freshman," Reid laughed. "I can't believe they trusted a _freshman _with this job."

"Hey, now!" I knew I shouldn't have been offended; after all, this guy wasn't anywhere near intimidating and we were both doing work that I'm sure neither of us felt proud of, but_ still. _Being in ninth grade didn't restrict me from doing my job _right. _And pretty damn good if I do say so myself. "I've been doing pretty well."

"Oh yeah?" Reid asked slyly. "What did Max eat for dinner yesterday? What TV show did he watch nonstop until his dad made him go to bed? And whose ex-girlfriend is he currently hanging out with?"

Okay, he was good. I'd give him that much.

"He…um…he ate…" I racked my brain for something, _anything, _but Reid held up his palm and said, "Spaghetti and salad, _Friends, _and Eva."

Okay, one: I found it extremely creepy that he knew of all that when he was supposed to be covering Casey only, two: _Friends? _Why was he watching _that, _of all shows, and three: Eva? _My _ex Eva? I mean, sure, she'd been a cover of sorts but come on. It's the most used plot in the book. Guy uses girl for personal gain and falls in love in the process. Well, not love, but something eerily similar, I suppose.

_Ugh. _Back to what Reid was gloating about.

"You really should watch out, Adam," he said, as he opened the door of the bathroom and cast me a look over his shoulder. "You're getting to be expendable."

* * *

Can you believe that? I swear, seniors are so obnoxious.

I'm sure you're all worried, thinking, _oh, Adam, how will you ever escape this terrible fate? You're a key character in this story with your amazing hair and witty personality, _but I was calm. Cool as a cucumber.

Alright, alright, _I'll give! _I did freak out. The whole day I kept nervously checking my phone to see if agents Henry or Erica had sent me any messages, like they usually did when they wanted to check up on the progress, but there wasn't any and that only reinforced Reid's warning.

"_You're getting to be expendable." _

I shuddered.

So when Max came up from behind me a few days later and tapped me on the shoulder, I turned around, grabbed his wrist and twisted it.

"_Crap,_" Max shouted, wrenching his hand away from me. "What the hell's wrong with you?"  
"Sorry, sorry!" I stammered. "I've just been…a little on edge."

"Looks it." Max rubbed his sore wrist.

"Sorry." I apologized again. Thankfully no one else had noticed; the bell had rung moments ago and everyone was slamming their lockers shut and talking at the top of their lungs.

"Hey, listen." Max leaned in close towards me. "I'm getting one of the A/V kids to drive me to the hospital to see Neal. Do you want to come?"

Neal? Hospital? When did that happen? God, Reid was right. I really did need to pay better attention.

"Uh, yeah, definitely." _Smooth, Adam. Smooth. _

"Okay, good. I just need to grab something out of my locker."

"Uh, sure." I nodded, and followed him as he made his way through the crowds in the hallway. The past few days I'd managed to steadfastly ignore Max and his new flirty/friend relationship with Eva, but now that I was standing there right next to him, that was _all _I could think about.

"So…how have things been?" I asked. "I heard around that Andrea's dad has an interview next month."

"Really?" Max raised his eyebrows. "I didn't hear that."

Yes! Score one for Adam! Take _that, _Reid!

"Yeah…someplace called…" I squinted my eyes and pretended I had to actually think about what the city was named.

"Yeah?" Max asked anxiously, his eyes widening. Hmm. Maybe he didn't care that much about Eva after all.

"Raleigh." I blurted, feeling slightly irritated with myself for giving up all the information I had about Andrea.

"Hey, guys!" Reid walked up to us just then. "Mind if I tag along?"

Max turned to me. "Uh…who's this?"

Reid stuck out his hand. "Samuel Stevens."  
_What? _

Max smiled. "Nice alliteration."

"I'm friends with Adam," Reid gestured towards me. "And I've talked to Neal a few times before. I just happened to overhear you and Adam talking about visiting him, and, well, I'd feel terrible if I didn't drive up there and see if he's alright."

_Dude! _

"That's funny…" Max shot me a glare. "Adam's never mentioned you before."

"Uh…of course I have…silly goose." I stammered. _Oh God. Silly Goose? What am I, six years old? _

"Right, buddy." Reid clapped a hand on my shoulder. "He's probably too embarrassed. We play a lot of Dungeons & Dragons together."  
_I'm gonna kill him. _

Max grimaced. "Okay…well…Samantha from the A/V club, she's driving us. You guys can go meet up with her in the parking lot. I've just got to grab…something…" and he turned around and speed-walked to his locker.

Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned to Reid. "Dude – what the _hell _was that? Since when is your name Samuel?"

Reid patted my shoulder condescendingly. "Oh, Adam. Don't you ever use an alias during your work?" he laughed. "Oh, that's right, you're a little inexperienced, as I remember."

I chose to ignore that. "And why did you pick _Dungeons & Dragons_? Could you have picked anything dorkier? Why didn't you just say we were friends in preschool or something?"

Reid shrugged. "Improv."

_Oh. My. God. _

I crossed my arms over my chest. "And why, exactly, are you tagging along with Max and I to see Neal? Neal's not your concern."

"He's not yours, either," Reid shot back.

"Alright – cut the crap. You got me with the whole 'expendable' business, but this has gone on far enough. What do you want? Half my pay?"

Reid looked offended. "Of course not! I get by on what I have, obviously."

_Not really… _

"And furthermore, I wasn't messing with you when I said you were getting to be expendable. You think I would joke about that?"

"You're kidding me."

He didn't move.

"You seriously just asked me that? Was that supposed to be rhetorical or something? Honestly man, I've got a job to do and you're making it extremely difficult."

"A job?" Reid snorted. "_Extremely difficult? _Seems like you have a pretty half-assed effort for this."

"Half-assed? Are you serious?"

"More than I'll ever be." Reid pulled out his cell phone, tapped the screen a few times, and then displayed it to me. The message box read,

**Agent Henry Lunse: **_go with Max and Adam to the hospital to see Neal. Report back. _

And Reid had replied,

**R. Simmons: **_copy that. _

Ugh. Reid _would _be the type of guy to write _copy that. _

"You see?" Reid tucked the phone back in his pocket. "I'm going strictly under orders. There's no way I'd be there otherwise. I haven't the faintest idea who Neal even is."

"Better not catch Max hearing you."

"I know how to handle a job right."

"Are you saying I _can't_?"

"Alright, guys. Thanks for waiting." Max reappeared with a jacket slung over his shoulder and a book in his hand. "I bumped into Casey and he wanted to give me _I Am Number Four _before I left."

This time it was my turn to shoot a glare at Reid. Wasn't it his job to keep tabs on Casey?

But Reid just remained calm and said, "That's cool. I've read it. Maybe we should all go see the movie this Friday? I heard it's playing. If I can get my dad to loan us his car I can drive."

Max's smile spread wider. "Really? Awesome!"

He and Reid began walking to the front doors, and I rolled my eyes, letting myself fall back a few steps to think about what to do.

* * *

_A/N: So another new chapter! I'm on a roll ;) It's short and doesn't really say much but trust me there are plenty more chapters where this came from. _


	8. You'd think this was Dawson's Creek

**Tomorrow, you promise yourself, will be different, yet tomorrow is too often a repetition of today - James McCay**

* * *

**November 9****th****, Thursday, 3:00PM**

**(Max)**

So. Adam and Samuel (aka Reid), huh? They're pretty annoying. Sheesh, with all the drama going on you'd think this was a _Dawson's Creek _episode. Don't worry – it's still us. I'm not Dawson, Andrea's not Joey, and I'm pretty sure Adam wouldn't want to play Jen if it came down to Neal being Pacey.

Oops. Sorry. I guess you'd better go IMDb that.

Anyways.

So Sam drove us up to the hospital and the car ride was pretty boring (I tried to get Adam to at least play I Spy but he adamantly refused until Samuel offered and then it was an all-out war until we were in the elevator) but when we finally got up to Neal's room they were already about to discharge him. His mom explained that he only had a "few bruises and cuts" and a fractured wrist, but he'd be okay.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

When she left us alone – Samuel and Adam hung back by the door and pretended to be interested in iPhone games but I knew they were listening – I sat down in the chair next to Neal's bed, and then asked, "So, are you going to tell me the story?"

Neal smiled thinly. "I protected Ben's honor…and then got my ass kicked. I'm pretty sure it's all over YouTube."

I laughed, but I could see something else was bothering him.

"Hey…" I looked back at Samuel and Adam, who by now were comparing Robot Unicorn Attack scores (_really_?), but now it was okay to talk. "Something's bothering you. What's up?"

Neal sighed and fiddled with the bandage on his arm. "Well…Max…I mean…I always knew that kids got crap and stuff, but these guys…" Neal inhaled a deep breath. "They're getting crap for being themselves. And that's just wrong."

I grinned. "Whoa, there_ is_ a heart somewhere in there." I pointed at his chest.

Neal laughed, and then grimaced.

"What?"

"Nothing…just a little sore." He rubbed his neck wearily. "Thanks for coming up, Max. I appreciate it."

I nodded.

Then his expression morphed into something else…concern. "Are you sure _you're _okay?"

My heartbeat quickened. _Did he know? _"What do you mean?"

Neal shrugged. "Well, there's obviously something going on and I can tell because you're giving me that look…right there!" he pointed. "You always do that twitchy eye thing when you lie."

"I am not lying." I said evenly.

"Am not. Express emphasis to sell the lie." Neal eyed me critically.

_Hey! _"Dude, you're almost quoting verbatim from the season finale of _Lie to Me. _That's not cool."

"_I learn a lot from that show._" Neal imitated my voice, from the time I'd said that before.

I felt my cheeks turn red. "Okay, maybe there is something going on."

"Does it have to do with those guys that chased you down the other day?" Neal asked curiously.

_Calm down, Max, calm down, he didn't say anything yet…Adam and Samuel are there…keep cool…cool, calm, collected…oh crap people always say that before they flip out and get their secrets discovered…_

"Doing it again…" Neal mumbled into his shirt.

I clapped a hand over my eye. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on." Neal scoffed. "Everyone thinks I'm stupid! I'm smarter than you think."

I seriously doubted that. "Okay, fine. I'll text it to you." I glanced – again – over at Adam and Samuel. "Later."

Neal nodded.

Luckily, Samantha had a relative to visit in the hospital, so when Neal and I were done talking – and Samuel and Adam told him "you should see the other guys" – we walked around a bit, quietly. I don't know about you, but hospitals give me the creeps. Don't take my word for it? Watch _Pathology. _

Samuel spoke finally, looking down at his phone as he did so. "So, I texted my dad. It's a confirmed. I can get the car Friday."

Adam shot him a glare, to which I glared right back. What was his problem? Lately, Adam had been acting off. He didn't even want to go play laser tag, which had been practically a tradition every Friday night since the fight with Neal had happened. Of course, that had all changed very quickly.

You know…it really sucked. Junior high was so easy. You didn't have to worry much about anything, your classes were mediocre at best, the teachers didn't care how late you were, the vending machines held actual candy. Though, at the time, junior high seemed _awful _in comparison to elementary school, where you didn't have to worry about anything and you just took naps. But high school…man, high school _sucked. _It was practically the worst time of your life. I suppose home schooling was its own hell, but I allowed myself a moment of pity just the same.

"That's great," I smiled at Samuel, avoiding the look Adam was still giving me. Maybe Adam was having family issues. (My dad was on a big kick with family issues, and had even tuned in to many an episode of _Dr. Phil. _Yeah, I know. Who believes in that stuff? Honestly).

After a few beats of awkward silence, I mumbled, "Excuse me," and wandered into a random hallway to pull out my phone. I was positive that agent Henry had texted me, _again, _to remind me about our meeting the following week.

Except this message was from _Eva. _

Now hold on.

Adam said last time that we were being all flirty but I wasn't! Truly! If you've been actually paying attention to the story, you would know I have way too much going on to drag a girlfriend into the mix. I mean, look what's happened to Spider-Man in _all _of his movies. Lesson learned: keep romantic relationships to a minimum.

**Eva: **_guess what? Dad dragged out the N64. Blast from the past. Want to come over and try it out? _

A Nintendo 64? Okay, no offense to Andrea – who I _know _hates my _truthful _side of the story – but Eva was probably the perfect match for me. I didn't hesitate to reply back.

**Max: **_Definitely. 7? _

**Eva:**_ see you then!_

* * *

_Later at the coffee table where we were all sitting around eating dinner and watching reruns of Royal Pains… _

"So I heard Neal got in a fight today," Sarah said, spearing a piece of broccoli with her fork.

Uncle G, who'd been slumped over on the couch, sipping a gross-looking V8 (mom had been trying to get him onto the healthier side) asked, "Neal Potts? That scrawny little kid with the blonde hair? Obsessed with Tetris?"

Mom rolled her eyes. "No, George, that's your son. Remember?"

Recently, Uncle G had discovered little tiny Uncle G's had been popping up around the country. Kind of unsettling, but not a huge surprise.

"Oh," Uncle G returned to his slumped position. "I…yes. I remember."

"Anyways," Dad turned to me. "Did you know about this?"

I cleared my throat; feeling like my hamburger was stuck. "Yeah. I didn't see it though. Neal was pretty…pretty…"

"Shocked?" Sarah asked. "Surprised? All I know is…he got his _ass _handed to him."

"_Sarah_!" Mom warned, pointing her fork at her. I was more distracted by the fact that my mom was eating a hamburger with a fork.

Sarah shrugged and picked up her hamburger.

"I heard the guys got arrested and everything," I offered.

"And rightfully so!" Dad interjected. "They could have killed him!"

"Yeah, I don't think so." Sarah said through a mouthful of burger. "I mean, from what I've heard, he put up a good fight."

"_Anyways,_" I slammed my cup of soda down on the table. "How was everyone's day?"

That, thankfully, got them off the subject and spiraled them into something else entirely: mom talked about some new vegetable garden that she wanted to make, Sarah bragged about her 95 in calculus, dad muttered something about psychosomatic testing going on at the college, and even Uncle G pitched in, with a barely audible, "I ate the last of the Lucky Charms this morning!"

Okay. Well, it's not awesome, but for him…it's progress.

Anyways, while they were all doing that, it got me thinking about what happened earlier that day, with Will. He'd just appeared out of nowhere and expected me to trust him. He told me not to trust _anyone, _so wouldn't that include him? Whatever. He apparently didn't know about my FBI work or he would have said something, but it still bugged me. Why was this guy here? Why didn't he answer any of my questions? I didn't know what to do and it was freaking me out. I wanted to tell someone _so bad _about my secret – it was _killing _me. It was like that one time mom and dad DVR'd the _Lost _finale but didn't get around to watching it for another four months and the whole time I was thinking, _don't you want me to tell you what happens? Isn't it killing you inside? _

Luckily, Eva called me at that exact moment.

"It's seven-thirty," she teased. "Dad's been playing Pacman on a loop until you get here."

I always found it weird that she didn't establish "dad" was hers and not ours. I always sad "my dad".

"Oh, crap, I forgot!" I jumped up from the floor. "Be right there. I'll ride my bike over."

And so it began…

* * *

Now I know I said that I wanted Andrea and I to keep our distance and then right after I ended up hanging out with Eva. I know I had thought to myself _I need a break from girls, _but…Eva was the exception. After two days of hanging out with her, it was like we were best friends. So when she called me up and told me to go over to her house and watch a _Dr. Who _marathon – I did.

"Max!" Eva exclaimed when she swung the door open. "Nice of you to finally show up!"

I blushed. "Sorry…"

"Oh, come off it!" She waved her hand airily. "I'm only joking. Come on in! My mom's made oatmeal cookies."

"Sweet." I shrugged off my jacket and hung it up on the rack by the door.

Eva's home was just like I imagined it: warm and cozy – kind of like an ad for a JC Penny's catalogue, with the magazines stacked up on the coffee table, the soccer cleats by the door, and the kitchen with fresh-baked cookies – it smelled like cinnamon and fabric softener, it was one big happy, ordinary family. A mom who worked as a social worker, a dad who worked at the family-owned car shop downtown, two brothers, fraternal twins.

No crazy, crackpot uncle, no mute, practically nonexistent grandmother, a dad who forced you to study psych just 'cause he thought his dreams were suddenly yours (how clichéd was that plotline?), a mom who acted like a pre-schooler even though she just taught them, and a sister, who had a serious obsession with perfection.

"Max Perwitz!" Eva's mom, Gina, exclaimed when I walked into the kitchen. "We've heard a lot about you."

Eva ducked her head, and I laughed. We'd already gone through the embarrassing we've-heard-so-many-stories-about-you routine when she'd gone to my house.

"It's nice to finally meet you," I said easily, accepting a cookie from the tray she placed in front of me, and I wasn't lying. Santa Barbra was full of interesting people, and I wanted to remember every single one. "Eva tells me you're a genius in the kitchen."

Gina grinned. "Oh, is that what she told you?"

"Come on," Eva pulled me away before Gina could say anything else, and her dad, Alexander, stopped me, swung me around to face the TV, and said, "So. I've heard you're a big fan of sci-fi."

"Oh, yeah. Huge." I nodded, and smiled when he pulled out the _Dr. Who _DVDs.

"Are you ready for the hi-def experience?"  
Eva's brother, the one with the green eyes, Riley, groaned. "Be warned: he'll talk about this for hours."

"Shut up, you." His twin, Nathan, lobbed a piece of popcorn at him.

We all settled down on the couch, and as Alexander popped in the disc, Eva glanced over at me and smiled. I smiled back.

The rest of the night was great – after we went through the first ten episodes, we moved on to trivial pursuit, and then, when it time to go home, Eva walked me out to the front porch, and just as I was about to walk over to my bike, she grabbed me by the arm, pulled me close, and kissed me.

At first, I almost recoiled; I was so surprised, but then when she persisted, I pulled her even closer, and put my hand on her cheek – her warm, soft cheek – and when we finally broke away, Eva smiled, and whispered, "Wow."

_Wow, _Indeed.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, for the record guys, I did watch _Pathology _and it starred Milo Vantimiglia (Heroes star!) which is probably the only reason that I watched it. It was a seriously messed up movie, if you all wanna know. And also - some actual exciting things are going to happen next chapter! Eep! Thank you all for your amazing reviews, you guys are so inspiring! _


	9. Rooftops and Invitations

A/V: Okay, so this chapter is kind of short and...weird. It doesn't mean I think the stuff that goes on in this chapter is okay! But it happens, and if Andrea DOES attract every single guy she ever meets, this was inevitable, really. Anyway - please read and review & thank you for all your kind words and support it means so much. I've had so much fun writing this story. Oh, and the chapter title Rooftops and Invitations is actually a song by Dashboard Confessional. But it kind of makes sense for the way this chapter turns out, too.

* * *

**November 10****th****, Friday, 9:09AM **

**(Andrea)**

**In life, unlike chess, the game continues after checkmate – Issac Asimov**

Wow. Okay. Max and Adam and even Mr. Keefe get time, but I _don't? _I'll have you know, I am crucial to this story!

So you're probably wondering how I have been doing – you know, without Max around to keep me company and stuff. His little experiment was not brilliant, but I gave him kudos for trying. Though it still made me angry.

Anyways. So…moving. It was still a big part of my life and I still had a lot of decisions to make (more important than new bedding and the possibility of having my own bathroom) and it wasn't exactly making me feel the greatest, so I did what I always do when I'm stressed out.

I read.

I read every single book on my dad's shelves in his study (not many, since they were mostly filled with antiques that mom placed there and dad couldn't throw out) and then when I was through with those, I moved on to my brother's collection of Alex Rider books, and then when I had nothing else left, I cracked open my well-worn biology textbook and bulked up on the endocrine system.

It's probably not a surprise I read so fast. I mean all that only took me about three days. Not to sound conceited, but I _am _smart.

So on Friday morning, during my free period, I walked into the library and went to talk to Mr. Keefe. Except that, when I made way over to the informational window or whatever they call it, I bumped into a tall blonde-haired girl, with pale skin and icy-blue eyes. She quickly bent down to grab my biology papers that had scattered across the carpet, mumbling, "sorry, sorry!" as she did so.

"It's okay." I offered, and, feeling I should say something, I nodded at the shirt she was wearing. "My Chemical Romance? I love them."

She smiled, and then pointed at my papers. "You guys started on the endocrine system already? My class is a little slow, but I've been reading ahead." She blushed. "Did you know that lizards are ectotherms? They r-r-egulate their body temperature depending on their relationship to-"

"Sources outside their bodies." I filled in, smiling. She seemed a little nervous for some reason.

"In fact, most reptiles, fishes, amphibians, and invertebrates are ectotherms."

"I-I-know." The girl seemed to blush even more.

"I'm Andrea."

"B-Brooke."

"Hi, Brooke." I smiled at her again, hoping I wouldn't make her feel uncomfortable. "Do you want to…go sit down? Maybe you can help me with a report I've got to write."

Brooke grinned. "Awesome."

We made our way over to a free table and I set my bag down, avoiding Casey's all-knowing glare from the window. _Typical, _I scoffed. The past few days he had been extremely overprotective and even though I knew it was just because danger was more inevitable nowadays (and the fact that, like every guy I'd met in my life, he liked me on a romantic level) I still wasn't happy about it.

"I don't know about you, but I am _exhausted," _I said, dumping out the contents of my bag. Brooke eyed them carefully, examining my tube of Burt's Bees chapstick.

"D-did you know that beeswax can help seal and p-p-p…" she struggled to find the word.

I looked at her in concern. Was she just really nervous or something?

"Protect the skin?" I offered. "Yes, I knew that. But you know what…maybe I can squeeze that into my report. It's supposed to be on-" but Brooke cut in with,

"Did you also know that beekeeping dates back to as far as 700 BC? And also, honey never expires! I've heard that archaeologists found two thousand year old jars of honey in tombs in Egypt and they tasted delicious! It's weird that honey even has 'best before' dates because they're not even needed! Honey can be used as a medicine-"

"Brooke." I held up my hands, smiling nervously. "Brooke, I give."

Brooke's cheeks turned scarlet. "Oh, uh, s-sorry."

"It's fine." I shrugged, then looked back down at my paper. "But I kind of need to get this done before eighth bell, so…"

"Okay." Brooke nodded, and then began gathering up her things. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could say a single word, she was gone, out the door of the library in a flash.

I bumped my head down on the desk. _God. _I was just screwing everything up lately. For the past few days, all I'd done was lay in bed, listen to my saddest songs on repeat (What's Left of Me, by Nick Lachey, for your information, is probably the saddest breakup song I've ever heard) and do homework. Rob tried to get me to look at that big Victorian house again, but I refused, and Dad understood. I heard him and Rob debating on the right tie to wear to his interview, and I laughed when Rob suggested the one decorated with Transformers. Dad had sounded appalled, and Rob had said, "It brings humor." For whatever reason, he seemed to think that would be all the people needed to sign dad up on the new project. Oh! I haven't told you what my dad does – he's a carpenter.

Suddenly, I heard someone approaching me, and I lifted my head up meekly. "Oh, hey," I mumbled to Mr. Keefe. "How's it going?"

He shrugged. "You tell me."

It had been a few days since I'd had anyone other than various pieces of paper scattered on my bedroom's floor to spill my problems to, so I replied, "Well, my dad's got a job interview in about three weeks, my mom still hasn't come in contact with us and I refuse to move without her knowing where we are, and, oh, Max is avoiding me, Neal got sent to the hospital because some assholes beat him up while everyone just _watched, _and I just made Brooke feel awful."

After all of that was out in the open, I was breathing heavily. It felt good to get that off my chest.

Mr. Keefe's eyes widened in surprise. He'd never heard me say anything like that before to him. I blushed; surprised I'd said the word _assholes, _especially in front of a teacher.

"Andrea, are you okay?" he asked gently. He slowly slid his hand onto the table, moved it towards mine, and then quickly jerked it back. His eyes quickly scuttled across everything in the room before returning back to me. Not only was he becoming more protective, he was also _flirting. _But I knew – and so did he – that it was just how it was; people falling in love with me wasn't something that was a shock. Conceited, it sounded, true, it was.

I shook my head. "No, I'm not."

"Max will come around," he offered, out of pity, I suspected. I knew he was right – he always was, being older, and wiser than the rest of us, and, well, psychic – but I didn't want to just "keep on keeping on" like he always encouraged me to. I was exhausted.

"Hey," he spoke softly, staring right into my eyes. "I know something that will cheer you up."

* * *

"This is _awesome_!" I exclaimed, knowing _awesome _wasn't a big enough word to describe how much I was fascinated by the view.

Mr. Keefe – Casey – had showed me the "secret" elevator that led to the roof of Santa Barbra High School. The view was incredible! I could see the beaches, the ice cream parlor my mom used to go to, the junior high, where my brother went, and even my grandparents' bungalow. The fact that I'd held a fear of heights since second grade suddenly dissipated when amazement took over.

Casey smiled. "See? I told you."

I nodded, smiling widely.

He continued, "I used to come up here during my breaks…but ever since…" his voice trailed off, and I remembered him telling me his concerns about Max, and the mysterious "FBI" team after him, and how we would have to keep a close watch on him. I'd heard around school about him being chased down – and I'd seen those people that day – but I was trying not to think about it for the moment.

"I know." I cut him off. "I haven't done much since we found out, either."

Don't get me wrong – Max was and always will be a huge part of my life, but he was kind of a burden, being new to this and all.

I pointed at the ice cream parlor. "My mom used to take us there," I said, and was suddenly transported back to the days of elementary school, when getting above a ninety on a test guaranteed a small, sugar cone with three scoops.

Casey nodded.

Suddenly, it was all too quiet.

Casey broke the silence, probably as uncomfortable as I was.

"So, you really like this Max guy, huh?"

I turned to him, ready to confirm that yes, I _did _like him, maybe even love him, when, all of a sudden, Casey's face was very, _very _close to mine.

"I…" I tried to speak, but he was leaning even closer to me, so, I leaned closer to him, too.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing – he was a _teacher, _in his early thirties most likely, and I was only _fifteen. _I knew it was a recipe for disaster, but suddenly I didn't care anymore, and I kissed him, like I knew he wanted me to.

At first, Casey seemed into it, clutching my face in his hands and – oh, I can't explain all this to you! It's just…messed up, is what it is. Anyways, after a few minutes of some pretty intense kissing (I'm not going to explain it any further, but it involved a little tongue) he broke away and stared at me with an odd mix of shock and confusion. Uh-oh. Not good. I did something wrong… _well no duh, of course I did something wrong, _but you get the picture. He wasn't into it anymore and he slowly backed up, until he was against the other ledge that looked out over the city of Santa Barbra.

"Andrea," he said slowly, and he brushed his hand across his lips, and I mirrored his actions, still tasting the mint Stride gum he chewed. "I can't…_we _can't. I'm thirty-two."

"I'm fifteen." I whispered, and reality came crashing down. "Oh…oh my God…"

Casey's eyes softened. "Hey, it's okay. I'm just going to…leave you here for some alone time…" he slowly began walking to the door. "I'll leave it propped open so you can leave when you want, okay?"  
I nodded, looking at the ground in shame.

Once he was gone, I turned to the view in front of me, and said,  
"_Crap_."

* * *

(A/N: so...making out with your teachers. Bad.)


	10. Reprising the role of Leo DiCaprio

A/N: Whew! Another chapter! I'm on a roll! ;) I just got out of a track meet and I am so tired but then I remembered I kind of left all ya'lls on a cliffie of some sort, so here's another chapter. Honestly, it's pretty boring and I don't blame you if you fall asleep. But good stuff is going to happen, I promise! There's a lot of character's opinions in here, jumping back and forth, so if you get confused, just tell me. Oh, and I ran the 200 meter dash...my time was 36.4...was that good in your guys' standards? :D

* * *

**December 2****nd****, Thursday, 7:09PM**

**(Andrea)**

**Life is like an onion; you peel off one layer at a time and sometimes you weep – Carl Sandburg **

So. I guess I'm the only one who owns up to her mistakes here. Let me tell you, Adam and Max certainly have a few things _they _could spill, but I'll leave it up to them.

Anyways.

So after that extremely weird moment between Casey and I, we avoided each other. For three weeks, I was on edge, not going to the library for reports and Googling instead. I ran into Max once, with Adam's ex, Eva, and his expression looked oddly familiar – that of a man in love – but I ignored him, too, and took up a good friendship with Brooke, who stuttered through the facts of Egyptian tombs and Stalin. I took up cooking classes so when dad was out at bars getting wasted, waiting for his interview, I could make dinner, and Rob managed not to run into any sort of trouble with his diabetes. I was suddenly introduced to the wonders of YouTube, and watched dozens of tribute videos to my favorite shows. Everything was – sort of – falling into place.

Then Dad went to his job interview, and Rob and I were sent to my Aunt Marissa's for a few days.

Believe me; I want that "cool aunt" just as much as the next girl, the one who'll let you stay up until four in the morning watching horror movies and eating pounds of chocolate, but Aunt Marissa's not that kind of woman, and I guess I was okay with that. She helped me study for an Honors Global quiz, and when we were putting away the dishes, she told me about my mom, and how much she missed her and wanted to know where she was just as much as me.

Yes, things were looking up, but I knew they would all come crashing down.

And crash down it did, when my dad called the following morning, when I was getting dressed and trying to formulate a plan on how to get Aunt Marissa to drive me to school in her Mercedes.

Four words.

Four friggen' words that just pushed me out of my dream state and back into reality – the inevitably of it all should have been enough, but his happy, exuberant voice was the kicker.

"_I got the job!_"

I halted, one leg in my skinny jeans, the other leg rooted firmly on the carpet. Convinced I'd heard him wrong, I demanded, "_What?" _

My Dad didn't waste any time shouting, "Andy, _I got the job! _I'm going to bid on the house right now! You know the one you and Rob like so much! I start in two months!"

"_Two months_?" I screeched, disbelief clouding my voice. In only _two months _I would be leaving behind Santa Barbra, the only home I'd ever known.

"Yes!" Dad was oblivious to my dejection. "Put your brother on the phone, will ya?"

Numbly, I pulled on my other pant leg and stiffly walked across the hall to Rob's room, where he was still sleeping soundly, and shoved the phone in his face. He squinted at the brightly-lit screen, then his eyes widened and he whispered, "_Did he get it?" _

Dad, from all the way in North Carolina, at some ratty motel no doubt, shouted, "Yeah, son, I got the job!"

Rob whooped with delight, and I scowled. _Was I the only one to actually be upset about this? _

Once I was back in the safety of my guest bedroom, I found an old _Death Cab for Cutie _CD that had been hiding underneath Aunt Marissa's storage bucket, and blared it loud, thankfully, it drowned out the sounds of my Dad and Rob's happy shouting.

After I was fully dressed, I put my head in my hands and breathed long and slow. Anxiety attacks ran in our family, and I was no stranger to them, but I was _not _going to have one now. Not in Aunt Marissa's house, not when Rob and my Dad were so happy right now. I refused to be a bitch. At least, not anymore after that one incident.

"Andrea?" Suddenly, Aunt Marissa was knocking on my door. "If you want a ride sweetie you're going to need to get moving."

With a sigh, I stood up, grabbed my backpack, and opened the door.

* * *

**(Neal) **

Oh, right! You want to know how _I've _been doing these past three weeks. That's nice. Really. Maybe you should have made a card.

It was right after I got out of the hospital that Steven, Ben, and Sam got into gear. And when I say that extremely corny expression, I mean that they researched _everything _on Max. We tried to figure out what was up with him, but Steven and Ben wouldn't really let me get close, insisting I was too "sick" to do anything. It was just a few cuts and bruises, nothing major, but I saw the look in Ben's face when he said it. He probably won't ever admit it, but I know he was proud I kicked that guy's ass for him. Or, well, got my ass kicked in an attempt to kick the other guy's ass.

Things were going alright at school – nothing major – one dance, in which Eva and Max went together. Odd, right? They were definitely together; he was holding her hand and she was all over him. Awkward. Adam lamented about that a few times, but soon more important things happened – Tommy Turner and his obnoxious friends got expelled, which made me some sort of hero around school I guess. People were giving me stuff and wanting to hang out and _dude: _the girls…let me tell you…the _girls _man they're all over you when they find out you're a person that kicks the crap out of people.

Max was avoiding me, which was kind of annoying, but Adam started hanging out with me every day at lunch, which meant I had to lay off on the lunches with Steven and Ben and their crowd. At first they were pissed, but then they realized we couldn't let anyone else join our little group, so they were okay with it.

Oh, and Andrea? She was always with the girl everyone claims is mentally unstable – Brooke. It seemed even Andy was doing alright.

So the morning of our big assembly – some random marine band was going to perform before the lacrosse game – I get up, hop in the shower, get out, towel dry in like five seconds flat because I could hear Mom yelling about something downstairs, throw on a pair of jeans from Abercrombie and run down the stairs two at a time. By the time I got into the kitchen, I was greeted by a mess of pancake batter on the floor, a whirring Mixmaster that was on _way _too high, and my mom, who was extremely frazzled with her hair in all directions and a spatula in hand.

"Um…what's going on?" I asked nervously, sidestepping my way around an empty box.

"I'm trying to make breakfast and finish the cupcakes for your brother and I just…" she faltered, her eyes moving to the doorway. I followed, and realized my dad was standing in the doorway.

My dad _never _went upstairs, since he was diagnosed. Literally, there is a bathroom downstairs in the basement and he uses that and there is a bed and he sleeps on that and even my mom contributes to the little charade, by bringing him plates of food when he's hungry. Justin doesn't go downstairs ever, except to ask for something, like more iTunes cards, and only because he _knows _dad has them stashed under the crawl space for unknown reasons.

So when my mom and I both saw Dad just standing there…holding onto the wall for support, I think we were both a little surprised.

"I think…" he breathed out slowly, his chest heaving up and down. "That I'm…"

And that's when he fell to the floor.

* * *

**(Max) **

God, what is _with _all of us lately? Can I just call us _The OC _now, or should I stick with _Dawson's Creek_? Honestly.

If you must know, my life was certainly different from three weeks previously.

The FBI was constantly calling me up, asking if there were any 'improvements' with my abilities, texting me orders to meet them at places so we could be "discreet". Trust me, if you're in the middle of an Applebee's with two impeccably dressed agents, there is nothing discreet going on.

We went through "training" which composed of me displaying my abilities in this small, cramped room, with about thirty lab-coat-wearing scientists scribbling notes down on clipboards, which they _never _let me see, me jumping through obstacle course after obstacle course, and, finally, the creepiest part – Agent Henry Lunse was convinced I could be some sort of hero if I tried hard enough, and he was constantly handing me photo books of places in tragedy and women and children clutching each other and crying. Like those pictures were suddenly going to spring me into action rather than have awful nightmares about me trying to save everyone and failing miserably.

Oh, and yeah, I bet you're also wondering how I've managed to keep all of this hidden from my parents, my friends, and yes, my teachers.

…oh…you still want to know?

Truth is:

I have no clue.

I seriously have no clue on how I managed to get away with it, but not one person knew of my secret, except for Agents Henry and Erica and, well, the other hundred people that they hired to poke and prod me while I stood in a really awkward position in a dimly-lit room, convinced I was reprising the role of Leo DiCaprio in _Shutter Island. _

But I mean, it wasn't like I wasn't being bribed for not telling, if you get what I mean…Agent Henry Lunse _did _"discreetly" drop me a brand-new iPod Touch on my comforter, with another little photo book, and Agent Erica was always pulling me out of lunch to take me to cool places like the new café by the beach I actually go to and a Subway, which wasn't as cool and actually was pretty creepy because the cashier was a guy with dreadlocks, and he was _white. _I mean, why do people do that?

Oh, I almost forgot – Eva.

Neal mentioned our relationship being weird, in his words.

He's just jealous.

I don't really know how to explain it, but Eva and I are…going out. She has this _thing _about her, that's like, _bam, _you see her and you _know. _She's also pretty intense with the kissing...once, when we were alone at her house – a rarity – I had her pressed up against the wall and – hey! I'm not telling you this! This is confidential stuff here!

Anyways, so it was Thursday, the day of some big lacrosse game that neither Eva nor I were planning on attending because _thank god _we both hate sports equally, but there was an assembly we had to be dragged to – not literally – and it wasn't until we were both sitting down on the bleachers that I noticed – Neal wasn't down on the court. He always was lately, with his new A/V club friends (repeat that in your head…yeah, I know) recording things and taking pictures. And also, Andrea was a few rows down and people kept rubbing her back and whispering stuff in her ear. What the hell was going _on_?

"Max?" Eva nudged me gently, bringing me back to the present. I hadn't realized I'd completely zoned out until I looked at the clock and realized five minutes had passed and the dance team had finished their god-awful routine.

"Yeah?" I asked, but she just nuzzled into my shoulder, and I sighed, knowing I would have to do some investigating later to know what exactly was going on.

I heard a _ech-hem _sound from behind me, and I turned around, seeing Will. He gestured with his thumbs, indicating I should text him, but I waved him off. I was with Eva. He would understand. The past few weeks we had hung out a lot too – I'd even introduced him to the wonderful world that is laser tag. Clearly, he hadn't ever played before, but he had fun.

Will showed me things too, like how to sneak into a nightclub without an ID, and what ice cream combinations tasted awesome at Friendly's, but I got the feeling he was hiding something from me.

But then, my phone sounded, not so loud that everyone in the bleachers could hear it, but Eva wrenched herself away from me, scared by the noise:

_Hey, don't let it go to waste_

_I love it but I hate the taste _

_Weight keeping me down – _

"Hello?" I demanded, slightly irritated.

"_Max?"_

"Yeah?"

"Hello, my name is Ashley Portland. I'm Andrea's mother."


	11. Fix You

**A/N: So I just got back from another track meet! I beat my 200 meter dash's last time (as you all know being it 36.4) and then it went to 35.3 and now it's 34.6! Yahoo! Anyways, I really love this chapter and the title is from an amazing Coldplay song. Have fun, read and review, and...have an amazing weekend! Play lots of laser tags and eat fruit...all that important stuff.**

* * *

_Don't believe in living normal, just to satisfy demand - Jason Mraz_

* * *

**December 2****nd****, Thursday, 1:55PM **

**(Adam)**

So I skipped school on Thursday because I felt like doing it and – oh, alright, I'll give! I just didn't want to bump into Reid and have him give me one of those condescending looks again, like he felt _sorry _for me that I was just quote _expendable _unquote. The three weeks after he'd said that, I'd been nervously peeking out my window at three, four, in the morning just because I heard a tiny little noise that turned out to be Mrs. Cahill pulling out her driveway or those insane nocturnal people that have campfires and sing Broadway music on their front lawns. California is a weird place.

I didn't expect my mom to be home – she _had _a job, part time anyways, at a shoe store – but she was, and when I opened the front door, I gaped at the kitchen.

Every single wall was _covered _in Post-Its. I mean, _every single wall, _and our kitchens pretty big, or at least, it used to be until an unfortunate cooking accident that may or may not have involved me and some Eggo waffles getting stuck in a toaster oven that was a stupid buy off QVC anyways - I'll stop.

Anyways, there weren't just the standard-issue yellow kind; there were all colors, purple, red, white, blue, orange, green. They were all written on, too, in different Sharpie colors (as proven by the coffee mug full of them resting on the counter) and had the cheesiest sayings, like Hallmark-card worthy, that said, "_make the best of today" _and _"never give up!"_.

What? Why? How?

My mom came out of the living room, wearing a Winnie the Pooh bathrobe and flip-flops. "I decided we need to be more inspirational!" she chirped, obviously forgetting the fact that I had skipped school (and watched the entire _The Life Aquatic _at the movie rental place, until the creepy girl with three nose piercings told me to get a movie or leave).

"And spend how much on office supplies?" I asked, glancing around to look for the receipt, which would no doubt be some ridiculous number.

"Oh, you know, a little here, a little there," she airily waved her hand, as if it didn't matter, when I _knew _dad was going to come home, see all of this, and flip out. Then we would have another silent dinner, in which dad would propose questions like, "How's school been going?" and I would be forced to say the obligatory, "Good," and then after that it would just be silent until either one of us left or attempted to start an actual conversation, whichever came first.

"How much?" I asked, already thinking of the five thousand dollars Agent Henry Lunse had yet to pay me with. True, I hadn't been earning my keep, exactly, but I had to do a lot of work to make the money come into our accounts discreetly, so it wouldn't be glaringly obvious a huge amount of money appeared there like magic.

"Not…that…much." Not-so-discreetly, my mom shoved something deeper into her robe pocket.

Before she could protest, I lunged forward, and ripped the receipt out of her pocket. Sure enough, the price made my jaw drop.

"_Seventy-four dollars?_" I screeched. "_You spent seventy-four freaking dollars on Post-Its and Sharpies_?"

"Now don't you take that tone with me," Mom warned.

I rolled my eyes. Despite the fact that dad would inevitably freak out about this later, I almost felt impressed by her dedication to this. It was definitely an improvement from her infatuation with Pillow Pets. Thank god that only lasted about two hours, and then she gave the embarrassing unicorn-shaped atrocities to my little cousins.

"What are you even doing home?" she demanded, but I ignored her, marched right past, and went to the first wall, the most offending one, and tore off the colorful array of purples and pinks, ones that said, _take a breather _and _believe. _I ripped them into tiny shreds, so small you'd never be able to read them, and then when I was done with that wall, I moved to the next one, scraping at every bit of the surface until my mom gently pulled my arms away and I looked down at my hands and saw that beneath my fingernails, there was blood.

_Blood. _I could die, any day, and it would all be my entire fault. I could get my parents killed.

Those stupid Post-Its…and those stupid agents and stupid Reid and stupid high school that would _never give me a break _and _stupid _Max Perwitz, for starting all of this.

I sunk down onto the floor and pulled my knees up to my chest, just like I used to do when I was a kid and upset.

And, just like when I was a kid, mom pulled me into a warm embrace and held tight, even when I struggled to pull away.

And, also just like when I was a kid, I felt hot tears rolling down my face and dripping onto my shirt.

Her voice laced with tears, my mom asked, "Do you think I can get a refund on these?" she gestured to the mounds of ripped-up Post-Its that littered the floor.

I let out a shaky laugh.

* * *

**(Will)**

Okay, don't get me wrong here, but Casey is probably the _worst _roommate in the history of all roommates, and I'm practically a walking cliché of worst roommate stories from college (or at least, the few years I actually went to college).

Casey's not one of those extremely anal people – arranging everything _just so _and if it moves, they have a spaz attack. He's also not a super messy person either, but he's just one of those people that I like to label "military type". He wakes up every morning at _four thirty. _It wouldn't bug me so much, except for the fact that he likes to blare his favorite techno, too. _Techno _music. I'm not a fan, and neither is any normal human being, for that matter. Casey likes to claim that "TV on the Radio" is the best band he knows, and that "Return to Cookie Mountain" is their best album, but I strongly disagree. Rock is the only type of music worth listening to and if you disagree, then screw you, your music probably sucks anyways.

The early-morning blast of trash music would not have bothered me as much if Casey actually owned coffee. He told me that he learned from the _Splinter Cell _series that you shouldn't have to rely on caffeine. _What? _Caffeine is one of the pure and true things in this world. Okay, maybe not, but _still. _I used to pop caffeine pills like Tic-Tacs during my junior year of high school, when all of the studying for SATs got to be too much and I found myself many a time conked out on my desk, drooling onto my practice booklets.

So I have to get up at four thirty every morning, shrug on an old hoodie, get out of the cold garage that Casey likes to joke is my 'man-cave'…_really…_and pedal – yes, pedal my bicycle, not drive my car, since I currently do not own one nor will I ever, because I can't get a job – to Starbucks, to get a coffee.

Okay, maybe the music and the no-coffee rules aren't the end of the world, but then there's _his daughter. _Or, who I've secretly named inside my head, _the end of my life. _Not only have I escaped from a beautiful country which is every bit as awesome that the states are not, not only have I also lost any hope of ever getting a girl because, let's face it, I'm two walking clichés because I also sleep in a garage and am living the life of an extra in an 80's movie. Not only do I have the power of invisibility when I want to be anything but – but now…now I am known as the "designated babysitter".

Yes, that's right folks, for every moment that Casey is "out" (canvassing the Hobby Lobby) I am suddenly appointed as the caretaker of his daughter, Melissa. Melissa wouldn't be half bad if her favorite TV show wasn't _iCarly _and her annoying Girl Scout troop friends didn't swarm around me every night, asking me why I had a funny accent (hello, Aussie!) and why I smelled like chocolate (what?).

So techno-loving, coffee-hating, father of a squealing tween's house…not exactly the greatest.

It wasn't like being in Australia was much better – being hunted down by some psychos isn't what I want to be doing – but still.

Anyways.

So I was just getting back from the Apple store – yes, the iPad craze had finally come crashing onto me like a pile of bricks and literally kept me up at night, thinking, _I want one, I want one, I want one, _and since Casey didn't charge me for rent, I spent most of my saved cash on one.

I mean, if someone had _told _me spending like four hundred hard-earned (okay, stolen from my father's safe, but I _promised _myself that as soon as the mess was over I would fly back and tell them everything…and maybe they'd be okay with me stealing a thousand dollars of _their _hard-earned money) bucks would not be a good idea in the near future, I wouldn't have done it. That's Casey's fault. Yup, that's definitely Casey's fault. But hey, I just decided to say eff you see kay spacebar eye t. Don't say I never censored myself.

Wait, what was I saying?

Oh, right. I was walking out of the gas station that I'd stopped at to grab a bag of Chex-Mix and a water bottle, practically cradling the iPad in my arms, when these three guys walked up to me.

_Oh great, _I was thinking, _not this again. _I swear to _God _I have like an effing target on my back, ever since high school. I literally have been jumped ten times. Once was by some short Asian guy wearing a Family Guy shirt holding an S&W gun.

It was daylight, so I had an advantage, and I sidestepped my way around them, mumbling something like, "Sorry guys, kinda busy here."

Suddenly, I felt a gun poked in my side and the gruff voice was right by my ear, demanding, "Just give us the iPad and we'll let you go."

At least I'd never heard that one before.

But I'd had enough of that shit, so I closed my eyes and…disappeared.

Within seconds, the young kid recoiled and shouted, "Did you see that?"

Not letting them get away scot-free, I lunged forward and used the iPad case to deliver a good blow to the side of his face.

"What the hell is going on?" one of his little followers demanded. I ran forward and punched him with my left hand and he howled, grabbing at his cheek. The third cronie, the one who'd looked pretty scared to be with the other two, began to back away, and I took pity on him, but still laughed when I poked him, he turned around, saw nothing, and I whispered, "Boo!"

He screamed, bolted, and the other two were gone when I turned back around.

Satisfied, I continued on my way, visibly, and ignored the poor old woman's shocked expression as she clutched her six pack in the entryway to the gas station's minimart.

Sure, my life can be hell sometimes, and sure, invisibility isn't as cool a power, as say, x-ray vision (you _know _what I'm talking about) but it has its uses.

_Anyways – _so after that, I was actually feeling pretty good and I drank a little of my water and ate some Chex-Mix and _then… _

It happened.

Now I know whenever people say _it happened _they think that whatever crisis happened to them that was seemingly small and not at all dramatic was the beginning and the end of their sorry lives, but _this, _this was the real shit, man. Oops. Censoring. Got it.

Much like Max, I've seen about every single movie made in the past twenty years, and quite a number of times I've seen the classic push-someone-out-of-the-way-of-a-speeding-car, save them, get to date said person, and then live happily ever after under this huge ray of sunshine that we'll walk under when the end credits roll up move.

And also much like Max, I find my life eerily similar to that of a movie. I remember all through high school I dreamed of living something as cool as _The Perfect Score. _

But besides all that, I saw this girl, with blonde hair, crossing the street while a car was speeding extremely fast, right in her direction. Ignoring the fact that I could just as easily crack a blonde joke than try and rescue her, I dropped my iPad on the sidewalk, sprinted onto the road, and pulled her back, being _very _careful to wrap my arms around her stomach and not in any other places that would earn me a slap.

The car continued on down it's merry way, probably to go crash into some other oblivious teenager, and I turned to the girl, and said, "Are you alright?"

The girl's blue eyes widened, looking at the car that was disappearing from view, and then back at me. Astonished (or at least, I think she was), she whispered, "You saved my life."

"Don't mention it." Damn I'd been waiting to say that.

She moved a piece of hair out of her eyes and exhaled heavily.

"Do you…need me to take you somewhere? Like a hospital?" I asked, already regretting it because a) I didn't have a car and b) oh, _that's right, _I didn't have a car!

"No, no." she shook her head.

I brought my wrist up to my face, looking at my watch to check the time. Shouldn't this kid be in school? I knew Max still was, at some assembly or something.

Then I looked back to the kid and I sighed. I only had about twenty-one dollars with me, but I cleared my throat and said, "Let me take you to get something to eat."

* * *

Dunkin' Donuts. I offered her an array of different restaurants, fast food joints, even Chinese takeout places I'd been to numerous times, and she picked Dunkin' Donuts. I was both unimpressed and relieved – there was no issue with the money at a coffee shop.

Hesitantly, the kid had stood in line, biting her lip while she stared at the menu, and when I recommended the bacon, egg, and cheese wrap, she blurted, "Okay!" and ran over to a table. I ordered a latte and then a box of Munchkin doughnuts, handing over my twenty and wincing as the total tallied up to eleven fifty-nine.

Once I walked over to the table and set the food down I said, "So? What's your name?"

She brought her thumbnail to her mouth and bit down. After a moment, hesitantly, she looked me in the eyes and whispered, "Andrea."

"Well Andrea," I lifted the wrap out of the paper bag and handed it to her. "You almost just got spattlered across a VW. Why don't you eat something?"

She nodded, but then looked wearily at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Are you some creepy pedo or something?" she asked, her voice suddenly going up an octave, and I turned around, grateful no one else in the place was paying us any attention. "Is this how you lead your girls in, rescue them from near death and then offer them breakfast food?"

"Uh, I'm not a pedo. I'm twenty-two." I crossed my arms defensively, and then felt my cheeks turn red. My accent always came out stronger when I was being defensive.

Andrea smiled. "Sorry."

After I popped open the box and selected a jelly-filled, I looked at her, strangely upset. "Do I really look that old?"

Andrea laughed and covered her mouth. After some chewing, she said, "Not really."

I could take some solace in that.

We sat in silence for a few moments, Andrea munching down on her wrap, me eating Munchkin donut after Munchkin donut, and the random old man in the back wearing the orange plaid jumpsuit slurped his soup loudly. During the time we'd arrived and started talking, someone had turned on the radio, and an Arcade Fire song played fairly loudly. I sang the lyrics to myself, wondering what to do about this and how to break it to Casey that I'd spent all of my money that day on an iPad and a teenage girl's afternoon snack after rescuing her from impending doom.

"Weren't you supposed to be in school?" I finally blurted, curious to know why she had skipped. When I was a kid, skipping was unfathomable, if not for the scholarship I had to uphold, but because school was the only relatively safe place to not get nearly killed. Outside, it was a free-for-all.

Andrea wiped her mouth slowly with a napkin and, avoiding my question, asked, "What's your name?"

"Will." I answered automatically.

She nodded. "Okay. Well, Will, I left because I was upset."

Clearly, this girl did not mind talking to complete strangers and having not had anything happen in my life since I'd arrived in the states, I humored her. I put my hand underneath my chin and asked, "And what could possibly make you so upset?"

"Well you see, my dad thinks it's alright for us to move to North Carolina when clearly I have a life here."

_That _was her problem? "North Carolina…near South Carolina. Myrtle Beach, spring break, lots of fun." I cracked a smile.

Andrea crossed her arms over her chest. "Well if you love it so much, why don't _you _take my place. I'm sure my brother would love someone to hang out with."

Ack, little brothers. Makes me glad I was an only child. "You know what; I just might take you up on that offer."

Andrea sighed and fidgeted with her napkin. "We've already invested a lot here though, you know? So many things we'll leave behind…"

Not to play the pity party here, but does she realize how much _I _left behind? I literally fled the country just to get away from some psychos and was living in a stranger's garage, but of course she didn't get that! I couldn't just blurt out my secrets to any random person I rescue off the street! I'd had a hard day, I was nearly robbed _again_.

"Yeah, but isn't that what starting over's all about? New experiences, all that…" I trailed off and waited for her response.

"I don't _want _to," Andrea continued, completely ignoring my Be Positive mantra.

"Alright, what grade are you in?" I asked in exasperation.

Andrea shot me a look, like she was questioning the reasons behind my asking. "Ninth."

Ah, freshmen. "Look Andrea, it's what, the beginning of the year? You're only in ninth grade; it's not like your senior year or something."

She looked down at the floor. "Maybe I met someone."

_Ah-ha. _"Who is this person?" I asked.

Suddenly, Andrea looked very uncomfortable. "I'm…I'm sorry…I shouldn't be talking about this with you. I don't even…I barely know you. Thank you…for everything. Saving me…the food…just, um…thank you." And she was gone.

I stared after her in confusion.

Later that night, I walked in Casey's house at about nine o clock, seeing him sitting down at the table, nursing a Heineken.

"Mind if I join?" I tilted my head towards the drink, and he gestured toward s the refrigerator. Gladly, I opened the door, got a drink myself, and popped the top.

"So…what did you do today?" he asked tiredly. His eyes had bags under them and his voice was pretty gruff. I decided not to say anything. He didn't need me talking his ear off.

"Absolutely nothing." I answered.

* * *

**December 3****rd****, Friday, 4:45AM**

**(Neal) **

If I'm right, we left off _my _part of the story where my dad collapsed. Of course we can just skip over the fact that Will and Andrea had a weird strangers-bonding moment. That's not important. This is:

I know when I've been telling my part in all of this, I've been pretty _un-_truthful about a lot of things. Probably everything.

Which is why, from here on out, I am going to be completely honest.

And here's where it starts…

So when my dad fell down on the floor, mom immediately dialed 911, and I rushed over to him, but I couldn't tell what was wrong, I was no doctor, so I sat next to him and held his hand and telepathically urged the ambulance to arrive sooner.

When they did, they loaded him up the stretcher, and Justin came running down the stairs and mom, him, and I drove to the hospital and waited.

In my heart, I knew Dad would be alright. Heart attack, stroke, mysterious zombie illness, whatever. What really worried me was that it was _this – _a family emergency – that finally brought us together. Justin actually sat still and quietly in the waiting room, leafing through a copy of _People_ and Mom, geez, she was a nervous wreck, chomping on her fingernails, but every so often she'd look over at us and smile that thin, pitying, smile and I'd feel alright. In fact, I swear I heard her chuckle when Justin complained that his Ramen from the vending machine didn't have enough flavoring. It's not a huge deal, but at that moment, it felt good to know things could still be funny. It's always like that in important situations, where you forget that there is humor and happiness in the world. You forget it's not a law to be mopey and depressed _all. The. Time. _

And, because even though right now you're probably thinking of how I'm all innocent and a nice guy, let me just crash you down to reality: I'm not, and I most likely never will be, because during that huge tragic moment, all I could think of was who would get my dad's gigantic collection of Star Wars memorabilia if he died. I suppose I could try and justify my reasons behind this, but I'm just going to chalk it up to the Jackass Disease I talked about a few conversations back.

Finally, when the doctor lady came out and talked to my mother, she had a smile on her face and she explained things and probably used big words I'll never understand and then Justin was embracing Mom and I pulled my ear buds out, silencing Rooney, and asked, "Is he alright?"

Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes. "Yes, Neal. He's going to be great."

So, apparently Dad just needed to get off of his old medication and that was what made him so out of whack. They put him on a new one, obviously, and he seemed…_normal _when I walked into the hospital room, and it gave me a total dejavu moment because I'd been there not too long ago and my Mom hadn't even told Dad about that. And you'd think the whole getting-beat-up thing bothered me, maybe even kept me up at night, but getting my ass handed to me hadn't bothered me, the reason _behind _it bothered me. People should be allowed to be themselves.

Dad looked up from a magazine he had in his lap and said quietly, "Hey guys."

Justin shifted his weight slowly from foot to foot and Mom sat down on the chair next to Dad's bed, grasping his hand in hers and murmuring something into his ear. I didn't just want to leave and seem rude, because hello, my dad had just had an episode, and I wasn't about to leave, but still. Did she have to do that in here? With both Justin and I looking on? It was nearly as sickening as the time I'd been looking in the bathroom for a Band-Aid and stumbled across a bottle of lube instead.

I shuddered.

"So, guess what happened the other day? You'll never guess." Justin seemed eager to swing the conversation around to us, and, relieved, I sunk into the cushy chair by the window.

He launched into this ten-minute spiel about his new English student teacher and how hot she was and how she had helped Brayden write his _The Outsiders _essay and shouldn't _he _have gotten help also and why was life so unfair and cruel, blah, blah, blah. I kinda – no, I definitely – zoned out and thought about how much homework I probably had to do now that I'd missed both Thursday and Friday of school. Earth science, no doubt, English, probably not, global, yes, photography…wait, didn't I need Max for my project? I remember telling Mr. O'Conner something about getting my project done by using my best friend as a model but I highly doubted that would fly with him, especially at the point we were on.

Then Dad was looking over at me and his lips were moving but no words were coming out and then I realized I'd put my ear buds in again and I pulled them out once more, asking, "What did you say?"

Dad smiled. "I said, they want to keep me here a few days for observation and maybe you and Justin could go load up on some comics, as I'm going to get extremely bored watching _All my Children_."

I cracked a smile. Dad was always the one to spoil me and Justin.

"Sure, I'll get right on that." I smiled and gestured for Justin to follow me out of the room. Dad held a standing membership with the comic book store down the street from our house. He even had a tab, which isn't as cool as having a bar tab and being all, "Gary, put issues twelve through twenty-two of Superman on my tab."

As we walked out the automatic doors and stepped into the extremely early-morning-bright sunlight, I thought to myself that even if things had sucked in the past, maybe they were finally looking up.


	12. I was going for stealth

A/N: This chapter title is a stolen line from the character Seth Cohen (or as some pre-teen/teenagers would like to call him, the "delicious" Adam Brody) from the television show, _The OC, _which I just got into for no apparent reason and am just...kind of...obsessed with at the current time. You know what I realized about it though? It's one of those love/hate fanbases, like the Twilight series. You either love it with all your might or you absolutely hate it. There is no in-between. Well. This chapter I'd LIKE to think is a little powerful, but somehow I doubt it. Anyways, happy reading. Enjoy your day. Drink lots of milk, eat fistfuls of gummy worms, take a spontaneous trip to Peru. Whatever you do, have fun!

* * *

"The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it, because it's only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they go on and on." – Chuck Palahniuk

* * *

_One Day Previously_

(Max)

I'm sure you're most likely wondering, what the hell is Andrea's mother doing calling you and not her own daughter? Well, I can honestly say I will probably never understand that nor bother and try to. It's like, one day I was an average kid listening to MCR (My Chemical Romance, for all you non-fans out there who haven't heard music until you've heard this band) and attending high school, the next I was with the FBI and manipulating weather with my own thoughts.

So this is basically what happened when Andrea's mother, Ashley, called me:

After she explained who she was, I kind of just sat there and stared at the phone, shell-shocked. What? Why? How? All were obvious words running through my mind and Eva was looking at me with that concerned expression so I did what I've seen everyone in CSI episodes do when they're talking to someone they don't want other people to know they're talking to.

"Oh, hey Neal!" I said, and to be convincing, my voice practically went up three decibels.

"Someone's around you, is that it?" Ashley asked. God, couldn't she just work with me?

"Yeah, I haven't been up to playing that lately," I nodded my head, pretending 'Neal' was talking about a video game. Typically, that is what we talk about. Or did.

"Alright you need to get out of there. Meet me at the Coffee Bean on Seneca."

The line went dead.

"Yup, yup, talk to you later." I snapped shut my phone and rose up from my spot on the bleachers. Turning to Eva, I worked up my best apologizing smile. "Hey, sorry babe but I've gotta run." Wow, if I could kick my own ass I would. Geez how clichéd was that line? And I called her babe? I was no ladies' man that was all Neal's forte.

"What? You're skipping?" Eva asked worriedly. For a moment, I contemplated just how much had changed since September. Let's review, shall we?

1. I stopped caring about school. Sure, that might sound slightly bad, but if you take away homework, studying, actually showing up to class away…then yeah. That's bad. Oh. Right.

2. Eva is my girlfriend.

3. I. have. Superpowers.

"There's only one hour left anyways," I explained in exasperation, throwing my backpack on my shoulder and beginning my walk down the bleachers.

Oh, and a fun fact for you: the teachers at Santa Barbra High School are completely oblivious to anything that goes on. Swear. Most of 'em are hired from that "alternative" school where they all sit in beanbags, play guitars and sing about being spiritual and whatnot. Maybe they all smoke pot in their downtime, but I was able to slip by unnoticed, walk out the side entrance, and half-walk, half-jog down the road. Halfway there, I was wheezing and gripping onto my side, cursing the nonexistent YMCA membership that I should have. In the parking lot of the Coffee Bean, I put my hands on my knees, and breathed in and out. Then…okay, this is the embarrassing part that I'd rather not say but since Neal has suddenly decided being truthful is important, here it is:

Will was practically spot-on with his version of what I do, living my life through episodes of television shows and movies that I think are awesome because when Ashley asked to meet me, I was all excited because I've never had one of those Mission: Impossible moments happen to me before so when I was in the parking lot I slid up against the brick wall exterior and moved my way to the left – mind you, I've already flipped the hood of my jacket up on my head – and carefully slipped inside the café after someone opened the door while balancing a to-go box of coffees that was an assholain thing for me not to offer help for, and practically flopped into an empty booth.

After a few deep breaths, I glanced around the place and saw the typical chalkboard menus hanging from the ceiling, the days' specials written on them and the ninety-nine cent offers. The lights were all dimly-lit, the floors shiny enough to see your reflection in, and the back counter swamped with students from the U, sipping iced coffees and typing up papers on their laptops.

I tried to look like I'd casually waltzed in, but every so often I peered around the little café, wondering where Ashley was and why it was taking her so long. Finally, when the waitress appeared, pen poised above her notepad, to ask me what I would like, Ashley stepped inside, walking at a brisk pace.

"Um, I'd like a croissant and a, uh, iced…vanilla…latte?" I asked feebly, only knowing what it was called because I'd heard one of the U kids talking about how she lived on the drink. I was at a café, after all, and maybe I'd learn to like coffee.

The waitress, a tall brunette, smiled politely and asked, "Would you like butter on that, sir?"

I felt my cheeks turning red. "Um, yeah, I would."

Ashley spotted me, and before I could stop myself, I jumped up out of the booth and waved. I may as well have just held up a sign that said, HEY, ASHLEY, OVER HERE WE'VE GOT IMPORTANT BUSINESS NO ONE ELSE CAN HEAR TO TALK ABOUT!

"Okay, I'd like a blueberry muffin, a buttered croissant, a large cup of black coffee and a bottle of water, Fiji. Room temp."

Hol-y crap. The waitress wrote it all down without blinking an eye, but I could tell by her actions, and by the way Ashley snootily moved a sugar packet away from her elbow that she would probably smack something once she got back behind the counter.

Once the waitress finally turned away from the table, I widened my eyes and glared at Ashley. "Okay, first off, I'm hoping that you're Ashley Portland, because if not, I have a right to tell you how rude you just acted right there."

Ashley moved a strand of strawberry-blonde hair away from her green eye. "Well Maxie, I am Ashley, so you're in luck." She winked her eye. "Anyways, I saw the look she was giving you. She's got to be, what, in her early thirties? Definitely cougar material. Maybe if you're lucky she'll take you to the supply closet."

I wrinkled up my nose. "Um, I think I'll pass."

Ashley shrugged. "To each his own."

After awkwardly looking away at nothing, I cleared my throat and asked, "So what are we doing here, exactly? Or more importantly, why aren't you with your daughter? Are you currently in Santa Barbra or just stopping by to interrupt my life 'cause let me just tell you I have a lot going on right-!"

Ashley held up her palm. "One question at a time."

I just stared, letting her continue.

"Okay, one," Ashley ticked off on her fingers, "I'm here because you need help. You need help because you're involved in something you really shouldn't be and other people are trying to help you, but you can't trust them and they can't trust you but we're all lying to each other. The only one you can trust is yourself but even then you should be wary."

This time, my mouth opened, ready to question just what, exactly, she was trying to say.

"Two," she continued, "I'm not with my daughter because she does not need to know what is going on. Clearly, you do not either, which is why we're both here and we're in a café because it's public and people won't be listening and you'd think that 'they'd' be all over public places, but the movies you always watch are inaccurate."

Just then, the waitress stopped by the table and handed me my iced coffee and a plate with my croissant on it. I couldn't help but watch her, waiting for the looks she gave me, and then I noticed the way she followed what I did, touching my shoulder when she asked me if I wanted anything else. Ashley smiled at her actions, lifting her coffee mug to her lips and sipping.

Once she left, Ashley continued on right back where she'd left off.

"I am not currently in Santa Barbra. I'm sure Andrea has told you I left and I did because some very bad things were happening and I had to leave. I went to Canada. I'm passing through, giving you some advice. In fact, my plane comes in twenty minutes. I should be at the airport right now, eating some piece-of-crap chocolate biscotti that's rotten and wasting twelve dollars on a bottle of ibuprofen for a never-ending migraine."

Clearly, she was on a tangent, so I let her continue.

"I'm not trying to interrupt your life. I never will enter it again. Honestly, seriously. Vancouver is where I want to be. I'll probably stay there forever. Send a few anonymous checks to my family when they need it. But for the time being, I'm invisible."

The way she said everything, so precise, so exact, really bothered me. Like it was definite, like it was the last answer, over and done. Andrea had been my girlfriend, yes, but I obviously still cared about her and was concerned enough to ask her mom why she thought so little of everything.

"Andrea's really upset you know," I put my coffee down. "They're moving to North Carolina and she doesn't want to go because of you. She thinks you're still out there. Which you are."

Ashley pursed her lips, but gave no response.

"And Rob, well, Andrea's told me he's been struggling just to make friends. He's also got diabetes! He's got a dad but he needs a mom too."

Once all that was out, I exhaled heavily, picked up my drink, and took a long, slow sip, waiting for her to respond. I expected outrage, a slap across the face, maybe even a snappy retort, but Ashley just looked down at her hands and actually looked…remorseful, which, of course, made me feel extremely guilty for having said anything in the first place.

"I know that I've screwed up," Ashley said in a low voice, "and I've got to own up to my mistakes. Andrea and Rob need me but I need them, and I can't be around. I've upset some people and if they know who my family is, they will stop at nothing."

Call me crazy, but all of that seemed like a crock of clichéd crap. I mean, how many Mel Gibson movies do you need to see to know that it was the most overly-used line ever? I'm probably not the best liar, but I can certainly tell when someone else is lying. And I knew for a fact that Ashley wasn't in some mob or whatever Sopranos-type scheme she was trying to pull. She was trying to get a sympathy vote from me and I just wasn't having it.

"Alright," I began slowly, fearing my wavering voice wouldn't tell her what I really wanted to. "I know that you've probably had some seriously messed up stuff happen to you, but right now, as you currently are aware, FBI agents want me to work for them. Me, a fifteen year old kid. I don't know anything, I don't want to know. But I know that Andrea, my ex girlfriend and your daughter, needs you to give an explanation. You've got what, ten minutes left to make this right? I want you to go get on a bus and shuttle over there and tell her. I don't even care how graphic the story is. Just do it and then go back to Canada and don't ever come back if you don't want to, why the hell should I care? Just remember this: if you don't tell your kids why you've been gone all this time, pretty soon they're going to start to resent you and the day you left and over the years they'll have forgotten the reason why that certain day makes them so pissed but they will be angry. They will be upset, and they will learn to hate you. They will hate you."

Phew. I couldn't believe I'd said all of that. I was like, astonished, completely surprised with myself.

Ashley too, seemed surprised, her mouth agape. We both just sat there and stared at one another, the only sound coming from the stereo system, where the cashier had started to play Death Cab for Cutie songs.

After a while, I sang the lyrics in my head, waiting for Ashley to say something.

Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark…

Not surprisingly, the lyrics really made me think about Andrea and our past and even Eva, who I wasn't sure who she was to me. Girlfriend, yeah, but I wasn't sure. I could never be about these sorts of things, apparently.

No blinding light, or tunnels to gates of white, just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark.

The thing about Eva was that she…didn't have a thing. Andrea could have any guy she wanted, at any time of the day, like literally open her window and shout and thirty, tall, six pack-ed, chiseled, guys would be conjured up like that.

Maybe I'm exaggerating.

It would be more like twenty-five.

The five others would already be inside of the house, offering drinks and foot rubs and giving out boxes of expensive chocolate.

"…and I'm sorry."

Wait? Huh? Had Ashley just been speaking?

I shook my head. "Could you repeat that, please?"

Ashley sighed. "I said, Maxie, that I'll do that. Someday. But not today and I'm sorry."

I stood up, suddenly wanting to get out of there as fast as I could. I didn't know what it was, but I felt like something awful had happened, or maybe I had just been being paranoid. "You know what? I'm not who you should be apologizing to." And because I'd felt bad enough, I slipped the last twenty I had out of my back pocket and slapped it onto the table.

"Enjoy your coffee," I called over my shoulder.


	13. Did you watch Cheers without me again?

A/N: I was inspired to write this after watching _Cheers. _How original. Ha. Well, I'm going to start putting these chapters up quickly because I have sooo many tests to study for and freak out about so I'm going to put this to the side for a minute. I finished this already though! So, happy times on that! Oh, and, enjoy your Monday (or, as my Spanish teacher would say, martes), drink lots of Hawaiian punch, eat a glazed doughnut, and read a book!

* * *

_ "I drink to forget I drink"_ - Anonymous

* * *

_One Day Previously_

**(Max) **

Can we pause for a moment here? Let's just stop for one sec…

Okay, so if I remember correctly, Andrea's got some episode going on with Will, which is so not cool because every guy knows the whole 'bros before hoes' rule, Will's having some pity-me-my-life-sucks-and-all-I-can-do-is-turn-invisible thing, Neal's dad collapsed and suddenly everyone in his family is united again, Mr. Keefe is a psychic, oh, and I just met Andrea's mother, who's been missing for months. Great life we've all got going here. One big friggen' soap opera.

Resuming my story…

So after I left Coffee Bean in a huff – and feeling semi victorious that I'd managed to tell off a woman in her mid-thirties, without even losing my nerve – I walked home. It was pretty chilly out, especially for California standards, and I quickened my pace. Mom and Dad always got home late and Uncle G was never around anymore, so I was expecting Sarah to be there, on the couch, doing homework or talking with her stupid blonde friends on the phone, but when I opened the front door and stepped inside, she was on top of the coffee table, wearing one of dad's dress shirts. It looked like a dress on her and her hair was all over the place, there was loud, Metallica-like music playing from the stereo, and the TV was playing end credits to some show. Quickly I dashed over to the stereo and turned the volume down. Sarah immediately stopped dancing and put her hands on her hips.

"Hey!" she protested.

I took it all in, the sight…the messy hair, the music, the stealing-one-of-dad's-shirts-to-feel-like-Tom-Cruise-from-that-one-movie thing…yeah, she was definitely drunk. It was no secret Uncle G kept a large stash of all kinds of gins, vodkas, and scotches but I didn't expect Sarah to tap into it. Again. To make a long story short, when I was only in sixth grade and she was in eleventh, I came home to a Cheers marathon playing on the television. To be perfectly honest, anything that Sarah sees in a movie or a TV show, she suddenly decides she has to try it. So, Cheers…not the best influence.

"Did you watch Cheers without me again?" I asked tiredly. I was in no mood to scramble to clean up this bomb of a mess and Mom and Dad would flip some serious crap when they saw this. Mom would be semi-alright with it, since she was always reminiscing about the parties she attended in high school, but Dad was – and always will be – a civilized man, one who sips champagne at parties, listens to harp music, and calmly comments about crises occurring in the Middle East.

"It was on, what did you want me to do?" Sarah slurred, head tilted to the side as she did a Charlie Brown-esque dance.

"Uh, not watch it," I retorted, suddenly feeling very much like a parent. Normally, I would be all over this taking care of people business, but I'd just had to deal with Ashley, and she had tired me out. Sarah was also one of those nasty-drunk girls, which end up kneeling in front of the porcelain throne, 'tossing their cookies', so to speak, while the designated hair-holder-backer (that's me) stands awkwardly with her and tries not to look disgusted by it all.

"Why not, you were late." Sarah continued her awkward dance, and I tried not to look at her again, only at the picture on the wall of our family at a barbeque, because I swear I saw her nipples and why in the hell would she take off her bra, in the middle of the afternoon? Is that what drunk girls did? I'd only been to like two parties and one was in fifth grade for D.A.R.E. and all they had was Hawaiian punch, unsalted popcorn, and karaoke.

"Okay, okay, um, we're going to get you down from here," I kept my eyes half-open, half-closed as I grabbed her hand and tried to pull her off the table but her feet were like roots and she refused to move, raising her arms above her head and swinging her hips. "Sarah, please," I begged, but she just shook her head.

"You know what's so awesome?" she asked, shouting, even though I'd turned the music off. "Uncle George keeps all of his alcohol hidden in the basement's crawl space."

I didn't even bother to ask why she had went down into the basement, scavenged through the remains of Dad's old tools from when he went through that Macho Guy phase, and squeezed herself into the crawl space to find the alcohol. I supposed it didn't really matter, just as long as I rounded up the bottles and put them back, exactly as how they had looked in the first place. One at a time, I balanced them in my arms and turned the corner, hoping that the arrangement of the bottles would suddenly pop up in my mind and Uncle G wouldn't notice a thing disturbed in his crawl space.

"Hey – what are you doing?" Sarah demanded. She hopped off the table and ran towards me. Before I could react, she nabbed one of the scotch bottles that was nestled under my arm, popped the top, and splashed some right into my face.

"What the hell?" I shouted, wrenching myself away from her, and unfortunately forgot that I was carrying all of the other bottles, and thud, they all thumped and rolled onto the carpet.

Sarah took the opportunity to nab another one of the bottles and she unscrewed the top. I had a pretty educated guess about what she would do with it, but instead, she grabbed my head and wrenched the top into my mouth. Gagging at the taste, I tried to pull away, but she pushed it again and I swallowed. She seemed satisfied with that, and pulled away.

"You…are…a…crazy…bitch!" I spluttered, and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie.

Sarah just laughed and bent down to retrieve her treasure, and in my desperation, I lunged towards the couch, snatched up one of those extremely ugly pillows Mom loved, and whacked it across Sarah's face, right so the beads could hurt.

"Alright, you wanna do this, pretty boy? Let's go!" Sarah grabbed her own pillow, and the jousting began.

We both circled each other, like in a slow western film, pillows aimed like pistols.

I don't exactly remember how it went, but I'm pretty sure that we broke one of Mom's prized IKEA lamps and Dad's framed degrees hanging above the flat screen.

"Sarah, I'd just to warn you that I am extremely sober, aside from that scotch you just forced down in me," I began, holding the pillow threatingly as I inched closer.

"Max," Sarah whispered, about to retort back, but then she burst into a fit of giggles and couldn't stop. Her pillow dropped onto the carpet and I took my advantage, whacking her again in the face. When she didn't recover fast enough, I smacked her again, and then a third time. She fell back onto the couch and giggled, louder.

Suddenly, my playful banter turned into real anger and I whipped the pillow at her, which set us off into the fight that broke Mom's lamp and Dad's framed degrees. I can't really recount it that well, because it involved more alcohol and Sarah giggling and me struggling to fit all of the bottles back into the basement.

But I guess it went something like this:

"It's not my fault you decided to be a pussy and stay in school all day!" Sarah screamed into my face, before splashing more scotch in my face.

I almost shuddered, but quickly retaliated with another pillow smack. "I did skip out! We had an assembly and I left!"

"So you actually did something bad?" Sarah teased, running over to the stereo.

"What…are you doing?" I quickly followed her, carefully clutching the pillow in case she tried to sneak-attack me.

"Music," Sarah shrugged and pressed the play button.

"Michael Jackson?" I asked. "Since when do you like him?"

"Since…now!" and Sarah launched herself at me. We both tumbled towards the floor. Before she could land any punches, I rolled, and was suddenly on top of her.

"Not so funny now, is it?" I asked, resorting to tickling her under her armpits. She giggled uncontrollably and tried to get free, but that only made me tickle her more, and then I grabbed the scotch bottle and splashed some on her face, like she had done to me.

"Revenge!" she shouted, and suddenly I was pushed backwards, onto the wall, and she grabbed a soda can and shook it.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I argued, trying to make a getaway, but she popped the top and it fizzed…all over my shirt.

"That's it!" I made a break for the kitchen, where I knew there was whipped cream, just waiting for a moment like this.

I quickly scanned the fridge's contents, knowing I was wasting time while Sarah found loads more weapons, found the whipped cream bottle, closed the fridge's door, and turned around…to find an empty living room.

"Sarah?" I called nervously, the whipped cream bottle aimed straight out. "Are we calling for a truce…?" I walked into my room, checking, and sure enough, there she was on my bed, curled up into a ball.

Laughing silently, I made my way over to my desk chair, pulled the fleece blanket off it, and draped it over Sarah gently.

"I hope you know you're doing my chores the next month for this," I warned, before exiting my room and gently closing the door.

* * *

Aw, Max-Sarah love!


	14. Sleep for the insomniacs

A/N: Okay, much like Neal, I hardly sleep. And I love this chapter title, because it's a...a...oxymoron? And also, much like my "Fix You" chapter, I really enjoyed writing this. I know Bob the Robot and EmmaT (hi guys!) have mixed feelings about Neal, but he's probably my favorite character to write. He's so complex. Or bi-polar. They go hand-in-hand, right? Just kidding. Anyways, if you're wondering, "Neal's" favorite Coldplay songs are Strawberry Swing, In My Place, Fix You, and Viva La Vida. Ooh, wait - I really enjoy writing Will too. Okay, I love them both :) I wish they were real! And, since I've been saying this lately, drink lots of Capri-Sun, eat a handful of olives, and watch some Vlogbrothers on YouTube; they are absolutely hilarious!

* * *

(Community season 2 finale)

_Jeff: Greendale, it's been a pleasure fighting with you. Some of us won't make it, but there is a place where we will all see each other again, and that place is Denny's. _

_Leonard: Which Denny's?_

_Jeff: We'll figure it out later, Leonard. _

_Leonard: The one near the 15 Exit, I'm banned from there. _

_Jeff: Well then, I guess I'll see you in hell. _

* * *

December 6th, Monday, 3:33AM

**(Neal)**

I guess I should tell you by now that sleep is not my thing.

Literally. Me and sleep do not go together. We're like…cheez-its and peanut butter…or pickles and ice cream…or…well, you get the picture. It started at the beginning of the summer before I went into high school and that's the way it will stay forever, I'm guessing. My Mom tries constantly to get Justin and I to go to bed at a "decent hour" (say, for Justin, 9:45 and for me, 10:00) but I never have actually fallen "asleep" until the A.M.'s. Eleven is about the time I slip into bed, put my ear buds on, and blast my favorite sleep music – Coldplay – but it's not until twelve-thirty that I start to feel my eyelids getting heavy, and then around 1:00 I finally nod off, wake up at four, four-thirty or so, eat some breakfast, and run through our list of DVR'd shows on the TV before hearing Mom rustling around in the kitchen and I sit down at the table and pretend I've just woken up and she slides me a cup of coffee that tastes disgusting but I drink it anyways because how else am I supposed to survive the day. Whoops, I'm doing the Max rhetorical question thing again. Sorry.

Anyways, so it was three thirty-three in the morning, on a school night, and I was up way later than usual, listening to the same song, Strawberry Swing, on repeat, and trying to last-minute finish an earth science lab, when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. Curiously, I spun in my desk chair, gently pulled out my ear buds, and whispered, "Justin?"

Actually, come to think of it, I had already assumed it was Justin, instead of my mom. But it could have been her.

The door slowly creaked open, and Justin shyly entered, head ducked low. "Uh, hey."

Look at that! I was right!

"What are you doing up?" I asked.

"What are you?" The challenge was right there. Of course he was back to that again. My little bro, more concerned for me, than I am for him. Sometimes it makes me feel like a real Class A bastard. Right then, it just made me pissed off that he thought he could guilt-trip me into doing something for him again. Last time that worked on me I ended up cutting out pictures of the human body and pasting them on poster board for two hours. It was a last-minute project that I got saddled with because I'm the only one that can stay up late.

"What do you want?" I exhaled deeply.

Justin eyed me for a moment, cocked his head, and squinted at the screen of my computer. "Are you listening to Coldplay?" he asked incredulously. Like Max, he was more of the rock/heavy-metal type. Me, I don't prefer screeching guitar riffs.

"Yes," I retorted, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Anything else you'd like to pick on while you're here? Or is there a pressing issue at hand?" I knew that he'd been a little jumpy about the dad situation, mainly because mom was staying with dad at the hospital for the next few days until he got to come home, and we basically had to fend for ourselves, but honestly.

"Well…um…" Justin looked down at his feet. "I couldn't sleep. I had a nightmare."

That made me pause. Justin and I were brothers, no doubt about that of course, we shared the same blood, we came from the same parents, we even liked to play the same video games, but we didn't spend a lot of time together and he'd never told me about nightmares or girls or anything like that.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, gesturing for him to sit on my bed. "What happened?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to really struggle to find what he wanted to say. We both sat like that for a moment, waiting in expectation. It was probably the only time I'd ever been patient.

The next five minutes, I just stared at Justin while he fiddled with my comforter and then he finally whispered, "You died."

"What?" I asked, not sure if I'd heard him correctly.

"In my dream," Justin clarified. "You died. Those assholes from the volleyball team beat you to death."

Oh. I felt a lump form in my throat and it took me a moment to surpass it. "Justin…I'm fine. Those guys got expelled."

"Still." Justin crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't stop thinking about it. And you just…went on. You acted like it didn't matter."

I shrugged indifferently. Had it mattered? I guess at the time it should have been some big moment where I went crazy and took too many Prozacs and got put in rehab or something. (Cough, cough, LINDSAY LOHAN).

"Neal, when the hospital called and Mom told me what happened…" Justin's voice wavered. "I was really scared."

I fought the lump now, feeling my eyes well up. Justin was only in seventh grade, and it took a lot of guts to say something like that, practically admitting I'm vulnerable. Kids in junior high were always vulnerable; they just didn't show it for fear of being pegged as such. If that makes sense.

"If anything happened to you…" Justin continued. "I don't know what I'd do. I would be stuck here all alone."

A full minute passed by before I could speak around the growing lump in my throat. "Hey, come on, I'm going to be for a long time. You don't have to worry about me."

Justin looked dubious.

"And besides," I tried to lighten the mood. "You wouldn't be here all alone: you'd have Dad and Mom to keep you company."

Justin snorted. "You really think Dad and Mom will keep me company? While Mom yells at Dad in the basement again when he takes apart the DVD player or when Mom can't cook dinner because she's so upset and we have to eat cereal?"

I felt my eyes tearing up. I had never realized how serious Justin had taken our family situations, logging every single fight or sappy moment like his brain was a filing cabinet. I guess I had never realized how lucky I was that I forgot things so very easily.

"Come here," I pulled him for a hug, and wasn't surprised to feel a tear sliding down my cheek. "I'm never going to leave you, okay? Mom and Dad might get in all kinds of fights and who-knows-what, but I'm always going to be here for you. Got it?" I could feel him nod against my back.

And I fell asleep.

Finally.

* * *

**(Max)**

_7:00AM_

The FBI agents wanted me to do a project for them.

Agent Henry Lunse was my "mentor".

How I hated Henry Lunse.

There were many things I'd always desired of doing since I was about six – being a super hero was one of them. But going through the rigorous training was not something I'd included in that plan. Every day after school, I would pretend that I was staying after for earth science help, while really I'd be with Henry and Erica, running, jumping, climbing, going through deception tests, learning how to pick locks and slip hidden microphones on people and get past security measures and hack into other people's personal information. None of it seemed related to being able to manipulate the weather, but I didn't protest because I was getting paid fifteen-hundred dollars a month.

(Which, now that I've heard Adam's side of the story, really upsets me because he got five grand and all I got was fifteen hundred? From what I've gathered, he didn't do much, either!)

It was easy to lie to my parents.

I didn't get home until about nine-o-clock when I had the meetings, so I would say I was at Neal's, studying, or Eva's, working on an English project. They never bothered to check, so it didn't matter what I came up with: got sidetracked by an impromptu Arctic Monkeys performance at the Barnes & Noble downtown (honestly, I can't believe they fell for that one. Why the hell would the Arctic Monkeys stop by at a Barnes & Noble in Santa Barbra, plunk down their equipment, and say, 'yeah, let's perform here'?), got asked to join the photography club, fell off my bike, had to hoof it home, and stopped at a diner for pancakes…all very unlikely, but apparently all very believable…at least for my parents.

However, my sister on the other hand…was very, very suspicious about it all.

Day after day, I would drag myself through the back door, pull the leftovers out of the refrigerator, sink onto a kitchen chair and stuff my face, I would be so hungry. Usually by that point Sarah would find a way to sneak into the kitchen, avoiding her homework at all costs, to give me a stern glare. Sometimes she launched into "the talk" (no, not that), which was basically a big, long, spiel about how I needed to devote more of my time to family and school and stop worrying so much about other things like pancake diners and bands no one had ever heard of. I always tuned her out and she always pretended like I hadn't, but the talks didn't make her suspicious: the disappearing did.

Even though I spent half of my life training to be some FBI robot, I spent the other half training myself. Most of the time, when I was with Erica, she wanted me to work on my feelings, and I just wanted to see how far I could go with my powers.

My powers. It still feels weird to say that. I have powers.

Anyways, so at about eleven-thirty, when Mom and Dad had long since retired to their bedroom with a bottle of wine (yeah, my dad was a classics kind of guy) and Uncle G had fallen asleep watching TV and Sarah had disappeared, I would tiptoe down the stairs and go out the door, get on my bike, and pedal someplace where I could be alone. It used to be the park, but then some weirdo kids with pot showed up and there was no way I was going to add 'drugs' to the list of things I had to deal with on a daily basis. So it was to the back of Kmart I went, where no one went anymore, and I would just sit there on the pavement, curling my hand into a fist and watching wind whip around me and rain fall down. Thunder and lightning were my new tricks – but I still wanted more. Nothing too severe, like tsunamis or hurricanes or tornados – just…different things.

After a few days of sneaking out, I managed to make the sun shine bright – at eleven-fifty-two at night. It was brilliant.

Once, I even brought Will with me because he said someone had told him about me and my powers and that he was like my protector. At first I was a little concerned about who had told Will and why, but I guess I'd always assumed Agent Henry Lunse had gotten hold of some Aussie, paid him cash, and told him to stay by my side. The odd thing was – and it should have been obvious to me – Will kept trying to convince me to quit the FBI's deal they had planned for me. Will always kept telling me it wasn't a good idea, but I didn't listen because I was an arrogant asshole for a while.

So Sarah was there the day Will and I were behind the Kmart. Luckily, she didn't see anything; she just followed me, wanting to know where I always was disappearing off to. I had mumbled something about hanging out with Will and buying "emergency doughnuts" but there's no way she believed that one. I wanted to tell her the secret – so bad that I let the first six words slip out with ease: "I have something to tell you…" but I never got past that, and had to lie by saying that I'd heard Mom and Dad saying they'd bought her an iMac for her birthday. Hopefully she wouldn't be too pissed when she found out all they were giving her was a pile of Barron's Regents Review books and a new pair of sneakers.

Agent Henry Lunse's project for me was to stop a Leverage-esque crew from stealing some crappy-looking painting from some billionaire executive. No matter how hard I tried to tell him that I did not possess the power of mind control, he wouldn't listen, convinced that I could take down these people that were faster and stronger by changing the weather.

Henry Lunse promised me I'd have a team to work with, and that I could even pick them out from a group they would select out of their highest rankings, but I was still a little nervous about it all. Lunse brought up the money, and how I would get a massive raise, but there's a point when money stops being, well, everything, and more of a nuisance.

It was when he threatened the safety of my family that I knew Will – and everyone else who tried to sway me with extremely cryptic sayings – was right. I either had to do whatever Henry asked or my family could be obliterated in a massive bombing.

Classic.

* * *

**(Will)**

I guess I should say how Casey and I met. I mean, I know I've sort of explained it, but not the whole, complete truth. So, here it is:

_It was about eleven-thirty at night and I was lugging around these massive suitcases. One of them was mine, from that time I decided to hail it to the UK for a spontaneous trip, and one was from my dad's closet, and I'd had to dump out his gigantic tie collection, which I honestly felt bad for and left a note about on top of them, sitting in the closet. Sometimes I wonder if they're still there. If Dad even bothered to clean them up, to wear another tie, or if he was too upset and just closed the closet and never opened it again, too much of a painful memory. At least, I'd like to think Dad was upset by my abrupt departure from Australia, but truthfully, I used to do some pretty stupid things in my life before then, and I'd only left behind a note about upsetting the collection of ties. So maybe he thought I would be back._

_I was in Santa Barbra. I'd driven up from LAX, in a really expensive taxi, and by then it was eleven-thirty. Being California, quite a few places were still open, but I didn't have a lot of money to waste on things like fancy restaurants, so I wandered around until I found this really shitty-looking bar, Clive's, and prayed to God they would have some decent booze._

_I was planning on dumping my luggage right by the stool I would inevitably sit at, plop down, and drink until last call. It seemed like a good plan. Until I had to go to the bathroom, that is._

_Give me a second: Do you know how bad it feels, when you're extremely drunk but need to pee? Like a racehorse pee. Not some wimpy-girl pee. This was like Niagara Fall's competition or something._

_So I quickly got up, steadied myself on the counter, and raced into the bathroom._

_Thankfully no one was in there and I barley had enough time to unzip the 'ol fly, steady my hands, and let it loose._

_Halfway through this history-in-the-making moment, I heard the door knob rattle._

_Oh wait. Give me another second._

_So on the plane rides to the states; I had been so paranoid about those guys finding me that every person that so much as glanced at me was suspicious. So if the door opened at some random bar while I was mid-pee, it had to mean the beginning of the apocalypse._

_Quickly, I closed shut my eyes and vanished from view._

_Mid-pee._

_I can not believe I did that. How stupid was I? Honestly. Who wouldn't find it suspicious to see a steady stream of pee shooting into the urinal without a person…peeing it out?_

_That person was Casey Keefe. Or well, the man who changed his name to Casey Keefe. He kind of just stood there for a moment, and then laughed._

_"Cool trick," he said, and then shut the door._

_I reappeared back, slightly assured by the tone of his voice. If he was after me, he wouldn't have used that tone of voice. I don't know why I did it, really. Maybe it was because he was a dude, and I needed a man-to-man conversation and I was still peeing._

_"Who are you?" I asked, squinting, and trying not to see double._

_"My name is Casey Keefe." He nodded, his equivalent of shaking hands, since I was…otherwise preoccupied. "I saw those suitcases out there. They belong to you, don't they?"_

_I just nodded my head numbly._

_"Come with me," He gestured towards the door. I nodded, put the trusty stead back in its pants, washed my hands, and joined Casey outside the bar. Toting both my suitcases, we got into his car, and it wasn't until we were halfway to his house that he turned to me and went, "Oh, by the way…I know this kid who needs some help."_

And that's how I'm here now.


	15. Faces, places, & all the other aces

December 11th, Tuesday, 2:35PM

**(Andrea)**

I expected to see Will again.

I admit it – being away from Max brought new relationship ideas to mind and after I'd messed up my and Mr. Keefe's friendship, this was something to focus on. Will was charming, smart, practically a knight in shining armor. Why shouldn't I have liked him?

I suppose it hadn't occurred to me at the time that maybe I was the one falling for Will, and not the opposite way, but I had taken the fact that every guy I'd ever met had fallen in love with me, for granted. In fact, I was so confident he'd call, I sat by my cell phone while I watched TV, staring at it every so often and expecting him to somehow magically know my number and call (because that had actually happened quite a few times with past guys). I even kept my eyes on the window, foolishly believing bouquets of roses and boxes of Whitman's would soon be in my future. How conceited it is now, to think that. How embarrassing. Because, fact of the matter is kiddies, Will was not in love with me. That's right. Will, the only guy I've probably ever met that didn't love me at first sight. The whole knight-in-shining-armor deal was just something he did, not for me in particular, and that made me a little sad to think that. Will was a good, ordinary guy and I didn't deserve him. My powers were useless in his presence. Maybe it should have made me happy, to know that I finally had broken this curse somewhere down the line, but all I could do was mope around and wonder if instead of Will not falling in love with me, Max could have taken that place. Max could be the guy. The one that I would have to work for, instead of the other way around.

Of course I still had Neal and Max and Adam and those random lacrosse guys that were always standing outside the gym, to pay attention to me and be head over heels, but it really made me sad to know that there was just one guy out there that didn't love me, and he wasn't the one I wanted.

Brooke and I began to hang out at the library regularly, usually talking about boring-as-hell school projects or passing notes, since the library had a strict "no-talking" policy, and – fleetingly – I thought about telling her everything. From junior high, when my powers manifested, to currently, where I'd made out with a teacher in his thirties and fell in love with a stranger.

But no, I never did…at least…not until she found out. But that's for another time.

Max never talked to me – avoided me at every given moment. He saw me in the library, he'd immediately turn the other way, or pretend to be engrossed in a book, he saw me in the hall, he'd turn in the other direction and act like I hadn't been there at all. I knew he wanted to take some time off, but it seemed a little ridiculous to me.

We all began to make preparations for the move, but Dad promised Rob and I that we wouldn't be leaving for South Carolina until September, before the very beginning of my sophomore year. Just perfect.

Even Neal, who I'd seriously doubted would ever do anything in his life beside get girls, fail earth science quizzes, and routinely get his phone taken away during class, was hanging out with the A/V guys and showing up in clubs like the Young Debaters.

It seemed everyone was just…living their normal lives.

And it drove me insane.

I had a routine schedule set – every morning I would wake up at exactly five-thirty, roll out of bed, grab a cup of coffee, watch an episode of whatever was playing on the TV that early, get dressed, ride my bike to school, and then prop my head up on my chin for ten bells straight, then go home. I didn't have much else to do, so I immersed myself completely in my schoolwork, and studied for hours on end. This, though, drove me to panic and anxiety attacks and pretty soon Dad was carting me around to every doctor in town, demanding to know what the problem was with me. When they couldn't figure it out, it was off to the shrink I went, and from there I was prescribed medication.

So yeah. I'm on drugs. Technically.

Anyways, so since I had nothing else to do in my pathetic life, I went to an A/V club meeting.

"Andrea Portland?" a redheaded kid asked me, looking up from the notebook all of us had had to write our names in. "What are you doing in an A/V meeting?"

The ten or so people that had actually shown up all stared at me, twisting in their seats to get a glimpse.

"I, uh, wanted to get good with…computers?" I asked feebly.

"No, really." A familiar voice asked. I turned around, and saw Neal sitting behind me, his black hair tucked into a baseball cap, sitting criss-crossed on a wheelie chair in his sock feet. He seemed pretty comfortable around these people, and it made me a little jealous.

"I wanted to be here, okay?" I snapped at him.

The redhead guy cleared his throat and said, "Well, my name's Steven and this here's Ben," he pointed to the tall kid with wire-rimmed glasses standing next to him.

I nodded.

"Well, the last time we were all here was about…two weeks ago?" Neal asked, spinning slowly in his chair. "So we should probably catch up on a few things, yeah?"

"Like?" I asked.

Neal looked at me slowly, like he'd forgotten I was even there. "Oh, right. You probably shouldn't be here." Then he directed his gaze to a girl on his right. "Right, Sam?"

"Samantha. And yeah. Sorry, Ben, I know you've got the hots for her, but we've got a job to do here."

"Oh, yeah, a mighty good one," I snarled, looking pointedly at the TV that was paused on Misfits, and the table stocked with doughnuts and apple cider. "You guys look like you work so hard."

Neal's mouth turned into a hard line. "What would you know about work?" For a moment, I panicked. Honestly, I did. Neal seemed…angry with me. He was always flirting with me – that's how this whole curse thing works – and he wasn't being himself. At first, I'd thought it was just the Will thing again, but then I saw the way the Sam girl moved closer to him, and I realized…Neal was falling in love with someone else. That's what it took to know the true feelings. For someone to fall in love with someone else. Neal and Samantha. Max and…? My thoughts racing, I didn't even realize I was falling out of my chair until Neal caught me, and it was almost laughable, because any other time it would be a great excuse for him to touch me, but he just seemed concerned, and flashed a warning glance at Samantha, who hopped down from her chair and walked over to me.

"She's fine, probably just a panic attack. My mom used to get them when I was a kid."

I raised an eyebrow at her while I tried to catch my breath.

Sam sat down next to me, slowly circling her hand over my back. Strangely enough, it calmed me down and I looked at her carefully. "Are you and Neal dating?"

Neal, who was walking over to the doughnuts-and-cider station (presumably to grab me a drink), laughed. "Did you figure all that out on your own?"

"They've been dating for three weeks, Andrea," Ben said solemnly, and when I focused, I could see that every single club member was crowded around me in a circle.

Neal walked back over with a red plastic cup and handed it to me. "Here, Andy."

I smiled at the nickname. "Thanks."

Ten minutes later, the meeting was resumed. What they were trying to do earlier, I'll never know, because apparently I didn't have the "clearance" to hear what they would say, and anyways – spoken from Sam – they had other things to attend to I could be there for.

"As I was saying," Neal was, yet again, spinning in his chair. "If we want to get this video montage done by the meet, we need to get some actual footage. All we have are some stills of JV kids scaling hurdles."

Just as I was about to ask what he was talking about, Samantha leaned over and whispered, "We're making a video for the track kids before their next meet." When I gave her a questioning look, she shrugged and said, "We've got nothing else to do."

Story of my life.

Another ten minutes later, and we were all walking down to the track with video cameras in hand, me wondering when Neal got such a position of power.

I started talking with Steven about it, actually.

Steven was into the usual "geek-chic" items: t-shirts with those sci-fi shows plastered on the front, oversized jackets, Chuck Taylors. He talked almost animatedly about a project he and Ben were working on, a collaboration of their sophomore year so far, and Neal was spliced into a few things, he'd said. He also had a theory about why everyone loved ramen noodles so much, something about the flavoring and how he and Ben were thinking of slipping it into an everyday food in the cafeteria, like those nasty whole-wheat buns that no one really ate and were used for doorstops once. He wore a shark tooth necklace and when I asked about it, he just kind of tugged it and looked down at the ground and Ben looked over at us and shook his head quickly.

When we nearly on the turf, Steven started talking again, about how they first met Neal. It was something about a video camera and how Neal had been really worried and made NCIS references. I laughed, thinking of how Max influenced him so much over the past few months. He talked about their first few A/V meetings: Neal always showing up late, sometimes toting whole bags of foods from the corner store. Once he even had a mini-party of cupcakes and Hawaiian punch for them. He got a little choked up at the part about Neal getting hurt by those people and being hospitalized. I gotta admit, even I did feel a little sad too. He was a changed person, and I'd missed all of it. I'd missed everything. I'd missed Max and Adam and school dances and volleyball games and the ultimate Frisbee tournament, in which the A/V club had "kicked ass" (spoken by Steven).

Where had I been?

More importantly, where was I now?

* * *

**(Ben)**

Wow, first time to interject into the story, huh? I just have to say now: I was the one to hook Andrea and Steven up. I was the one that made sure Andrea treaded softly and knew when to step back and give him space. I was the one that had to be the odd guy out and take them both with me to see Friends with Benefits so the weird tension between them would even out.

I guess it was what Andrea was just talking about, that started it all. The first A/V club meeting. The one thing that set all of our lives into motion.

It's hard to believe being part of some small, minuscule club made me seem so big. Since it's been a while since all of this has happened, and since it's been a while since I've grown up and moved away from Santa Barbra and went to college and did the typical cubicle job, I can safely say that this is my story to tell. It probably always has been, really.

Everyone in this apparently all know who Andrea really is, and to be honest, I have always known as well. Just…for all the wrong reasons. Reid's my cousin. Not hard to believe. It is the classic superhero movie – good vs. evil, who will ever triumph in the end? Well, that's Max's job to say.

No, what I get to tell is the story of Steven and Andrea. Because they were not the typical couple. In fact, they were both so stubborn it wasn't until their fifth date (and my tenth 'subtle' phone call to tell Steven to bring up Andrea's favorite things so she wouldn't get bored) that they both realized they were dating. And it wasn't until two months later that normalcy set in.

We had madcap partying going on at Steven's. Night and day. There were always kegs brought in by Steven's mother's low-life boyfriend, and we always watched TV and swam in the pool and blared Foo Fighters so loud that the neighbors called the police. Twice.

I always stayed at Steven's because my parents didn't appreciate me coming home drunk off my ass and smelling of Budweiser, so when one morning I walked into the kitchen, managing to simultaneously yawn, pour a bowl of cereal, and finish my game of Angry Birds I'd been playing on my iTouch in my sleep, I wasn't surprised to see Andrea slumped over on the couch with Neal, his arm draped over her. I'd noticed that Andrea and Neal, despite having a relationship previously and seemingly interested in other people, were still pretty close. A hand snaking around the waist, a lap being used as a foot rest, soft murmurings in the ear no one else could hear.

Laughing, I spooned a mouthful of Frosted Flakes and watched a few people slip out the back door, holding shoes in their hands or "sneaking" some beer with them.

Andrea became a regular part of our everyday lives. She supplied us with Snickers and Dr. Pepper when it came time to study for important tests, she was the movie buff, the one who knew just what movie everyone would like on a rainy day when we were all just taking up space at Steven's, but never Neal's for unknown reasons, and filming was a hidden talent of hers.

At first, she and Steven had no chemistry. In fact, they were always arguing. About who got to read the newest Chuck Palahniuk book first, about who ate the last pickle from the mini fridge. They never shut up about the Nathan-Simon duo on Misfits, and even Neal soon learned to tune them out with his trusty headphones. But no, not me. I was stuck listening to every argument, every summarization of every TV episode, every half-hearted apology, smoothed over with a trip to Pinkberry, a place Steven had used to say he would never step foot in, not unless it was during the middle of the apocalypse and only if that was all they would have left to eat.

It was obvious there was something there.

And it was also obvious I would have to be the one to make sure they were both pushed in the right direction.

Steven was shy, withdrawn, and comfortable only with people he'd gotten to know. Andrea hadn't yet fallen into that category, so I made sure of it. When we watched movies on the weekend, I didn't sit next to Steven anymore, I moved closer to Neal and Samantha (who were a whole different story), when we all studied together for our language classes, I would not-so-casually mention the conjugation for the word to love in Spanish. I even drew out the sappiest movie, Love, Actually, and made everyone sit down to watch it. Except that, I didn't. I bribed Neal and Samantha to leave after the first ten minutes and go to a café or something, and the rest of the club guys to go to Comic-Con. And then I left, casually, into the next room, peeking in every so often to check on the progress. It was slow, but eventually, they fit together. It didn't seem like they were dating, really. I would stay over at Steven's, sleeping in the guest room, and go into his room the next morning to ask where he kept the Pop-Tarts, when I would see them looped together, both in their clothes from the night before, put together like puzzle pieces, like both of them had been missing each other the whole time and then they had finally fit.

They had absolutely nothing in common, but were exactly the same.

She wore his hoodies, and held his hand, and made him love notes that he blushed about and hid in his desk.

He gave her little gifts, of mini chocolate bars and beaded bracelets, and held her hand, and made her mixed CDs.

They went to concerts and even brought me to one, an MGMT one that somehow pulled Andrea into asking Steven why he wore the shark tooth necklace, again, and again, I'd made the same motion, the slit across the neck that said, do not go there, but she did and then Steven retreated back into his shell and I'd had to sit Andrea down and tell her that yes, Steven was sensitive about the necklace, because his sister, who had been thirteen, had died and given that to him right before she'd gotten on a plane to go to some science field trip and then the plane had crashed and Steven didn't talk for months.

It took a while for Steven to come back, and that's when I had them watch the movie, and everything seemed to slowly return back to normal.

It was alright again.

I take full credit for it.

* * *

Okay, so I have mixed feelings about this chapter, too. But the next one I really, really, REALLY like, so watch out for that! :D


	16. Different Names for the Same Thing

A/N: Alright! I LOVE this chapter, especially because of the Max/Casey teacher/student, let-me-guide-you relationship. I think it's great. Not my writing technique...you know what I mean. The bond. I love writing about it. And I love that this chapter is the longest one I've done in a long time! ANDDD that it's the title of a Death Cab for Cutie song, which is probably my favorite band or my second-favorite. It's a toss-up between like...five different ones. Soooo...eat your fruits and vegetables, pet a fluffy kitten, and check your e-mail! ;D

* * *

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restored and sorrows end.

~William Shakespeare

* * *

Monday, February 1st, 6:00AM

**(Casey)**

Okay, so we've successfully fast-forwarded ourselves two months into the future. How convenient for Ben to just blow everything. Of course, as they always say, the future's always changing. It might end up being Max marries Andrea. I'm hoping she has a nice life, full of wonderful men that will treat her right, because it just makes me feel like a pedophile to know that I kissed her, on top of the school's roof, and enjoyed it. I enjoyed kissing a fifteen year old. And I get it – she has a supernatural ability, one that you can't possibly beat, except if you're Will (and I'll get to that in a minute). I understand that. But I'm still…almost…hurt by it.

In the two months since Ben skipped all of us – thanks a lot, kid, I'll remember that next time when you're looking for manga – Max has continued his jobs for the FBI, Adam's been a sneaky little bastard, Andrea's joined the A/V club with Neal, started dating Steven, and gone on anxiety medication. Her father's accepted a job in Raleigh, North Carolina, and they're moving in September. Neal's started a relationship with Samantha.

Will's done courageous acts and told us the story of how we've first met.

Reid's been a double agent, and so far, it's working for him.

Andrea's mother, Ashley, moved back to Vancouver, leaving only a few sentences of encouragement for Max.

I've been living under a false name, along with my daughter.

Santa Barbra is a beach community…completely swamped with secrets, lies, and consequences.

The meeting I was required to go to at the school was at six a.m., and honestly, no one was up. I could tell, because the sun still had yet to set, and as I pulled into the parking lot of a Sunoco gas station, even the radio DJ said, "Alright folks, we gonna take it slo-o-o-o-w because I am one tired brotha."

I didn't bother over-thinking the fact that the radio station completely stereotyped the African-American man being a DJ and throwing around words like "brotha".

The cashier, an elderly woman who will probably work there until she dies, pushed my change roughly at me across the counter, and a quarter dropped and rolled into the candy aisle.

"Sorry." She said gruffly, and then returned to the Doodle Jump game on her phone.

Right, right, of course you're sorry, I thought scathingly. As I stooped over to grab it, I nearly crashed right into a magazine rack. "Damn," I cursed under my breath, catching the copy of Good Housekeeping before it fell onto the freshly-mopped floor. In my case of "the Mondays", I almost considered calling up the makers of Good Housekeeping and giving them a piece of my mind. Why should people feel the need to tell others how to arrange their homes? Let them draw all over the walls and spray paint the ceiling and never vacuum chip crumbs out of the carpet! Who cares?

When I finally got to the school, I was fuming, and in no mood to deal with Scary Cary (I'd coined the name myself…Not my best work), the secretary that organized all of the parties. During some point in the past decade, when I hadn't even been around, everyone had been assigned jobs. Mine was to get the cookies of choice, and I always ended up getting a lame box of chocolate chip ones from Wegmans at the last minute.

But honestly, the staff members had parties almost every week. And for the stupidest things, too. One day in January, we celebrated Janette Murphy's son's first communion. I think Scary Cary the secretary just likes to get out of answering phones and writing down appointments.

But Scary Cary was right by the entrance when I walked in, and I took a sip of coffee, steeling myself for the inevitable.

"Casey, did you remember Donna's birthday is today?" she asked, smoothing down her pink sweater and giving me that "angelic" look of hers. Really just reminds me of a crazy cat woman slash murderer.

Donna, a favored librarian, and actually one of the few women I could handle on a daily basis, was turning fifty-two. And of course I'd forgotten. On today of all days.

"Actually, I didn't." I said, and I felt a little remorseful. Typical Scary Cary, trying to make you feel sorry.

"Oh," she breathed. "How are we going to celebrate if there's no food?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying my best to subtlety edge my way around her, but she kept jumping right ahead of me.

"Well, Gary forgot pizza and Suzanne never remembers the ice cream. Which leaves cookies, which you don't have. All we'll have is soda." She pouted.

"Perfect. I love soda." I pushed past her, practically sprinting to the upstairs science wing, where the meeting was being held.

Supposedly, skipping classes was becoming quite the 'in' thing at Santa Barbra High School, and somehow, through an inspiring speech given by a high school dropout being flown in from New York, that was going to stop it all.

Good luck with that, I snorted, letting my pessimism take over my entire day. Kids would skip classes even if they were giving out candy. That's just the way it was.

But I nodded and smiled with the rest of the teachers who hadn't yet lost faith in their jobs, and then retreated back to my informational window, rolling up the cover and pulling my chair to the opening and setting my row of caffeinated drinks to my right, for easy access.

At seven, Max was probably the only kid in the whole school there early. He bounded over to me, wearing a We Never Sleep t-shirt, backpack flying everywhere, scattering highlighters, crumpled papers, and some weird pen-flashlight thing that I knew was one of the FBI's gadgets, onto the floor.

It's my fault that Max was involved in the FBI all that time. People have tried to convince me otherwise in the past, but I can't just tell myself that. Max was involved in so much, faced so much danger, put himself before others like it didn't need a second thought. He was only fifteen years old at the time. But I put it off, and Will even tried to tell me to hurry it up, to tell him about our team and how we were going to take those people down, but I didn't listen and that makes me regret not listening to Will too.

As he bent down to pick everything up, I casually asked, "So how's Eva?" coming right out with the concerned-teacher mode. Eva was one of those girls that used to pick on me in school. Obnoxious. Obviously, Max saw through the façade, and I was happy for him, but I'd had another 'vision' last night, in my dream.

Max was scribbling furiously down in a notebook, never taking his eyes off it.

Behind him, a female voice said, "I think we need a break, Max."

"She's good." Max said, more to the floor than me. "Great, actually. We went to a Vampire Weekend concert yesterday."

"Vampire Weekend?" I asked in disbelief. "Do the band members dress like vampires?"

Max laughed. "Mr. Keefe, please. Do you honestly think I'd go if they did?"

I shrugged. All kinds of kids were still stuck in the vampire craze, which in my humble opinion, should have stayed in the 90's where it belonged.

"So…nothing weird going on between you two, then?" I asked.

"No…" Max leveled his gaze with mine, finally done collecting his items off the floor. "Why?"

"No reason." I said quickly, realizing how much I sounded like a teenager right then. "I mean…I just thought…"

Max smiled thinly, knowingly. "Andrea?"

"Yes." I said quickly, seeing my way out. "I just thought…"

"I know." He shrugged. "It is what it is, I guess."

If anyone else had been listening to our stilted conversation, they would have been extremely confused.

"Are you sure you're not…?" I didn't even know what I was asking the kid.

Max turned around. "Take a break?"

The female voice said quietly, "We need to break up. See other people."

"I'm fine." Max forced a smile. "Better than fine."

Something was bothering him.

But it seemed I didn't have to tell him so, because he slumped over and sighed, saying, "It's just…I'm a little worried."

"About what?" I asked.

"Everything." He exhaled. "Grades, girls…lunch."

"You're worried about lunch?"

"It's cook's choice." As if that explained it all, which it did.

"Grades?"

"Earth science needs a permanent teacher, what can I say?"

"Girls?"

Silence.

"Something's going on with Eva."

"Well…no."

"Andrea?"

"No."

"Someone new?"

Max sighed. "No. Me!"

Ah. "I see…" I said slowly. Max was having second thoughts. Maybe that was why Eva was going to break up with him? I don't really understand teenagers as much as I'd like to.

"I don't think I want to be with Eva anymore," he confessed.

"Do you want to be with someone else?" I persisted; pleading it wasn't some girl I would have to do a background check on.

Max vehemently shook his head. "No. No. And that's the weird part. Because I thought I did want to be with Eva. She's perfect and likes the same music and movies as me and doesn't have p-weird things, like Andrea. But it's like…too perfect and she doesn't seem like she's into us anymore."

I rubbed the stubble on my chin with my hand slowly, thinking.

"And maybe it all really doesn't matter," Max continued, "because I'm only in ninth grade, right? I have plenty of time for all this romance crap in college."

"Yes, plenty of time," I parroted.

"Andrea kind of showed me that, in a way," Max went on. "We had all this drama and it just took up space, ya know? Once we broke up, it was completely different. Like nothing to worry about. Well, some things. But still. Are you getting what I'm saying?"

I nodded. "Sure. I'm picking up what you're putting down." Max was feeling overwhelmed. What with the girlfriends, the "FBI" closing in on him, the manipulating weather thing. Of course he thought I only knew about the girl parts, but I could understand why he just needed to push at least that part of his life off to the side.

"And, to top it all off, I am starving." Max leaned against the counter and peered over it. "Got any food behind here?"

I reached down into my bag and pulled out a package of hostess donuts. "Here."

"Life saver!" Max gushed before ripping it open.

While he was stuffing his face, I grabbed a Lysol wipe and scrubbed it over the counter. The flu had been spreading like wildfire, and there was no way I was getting saddled with a disease.

"You know what I wanna do?" Max asked, and then cut me off right before I could ask. "I want to go on a world-wide tour. Of like, donuts. Just stop at every donut shop in the country, and then move on to South America, and then Europe…"

"Would you still stop at Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme?"

"Hell yes I would! I'd take a giant notebook with me and take pictures of the donuts and interview people. I'd get a reality show. Something like 'Max's donut discovery'."

I laughed. "Are you going to exercise at all during this time?"

"Oh." Max looked crestfallen. "I would get pretty fat, huh?"

I shrugged, letting him decide. "You've seen Supersize Me."

"That I have." Max finished the donuts. "Alright. I'll go in a tour bus, like bands do, and then run on a treadmill on the way to the donut shops."

"Okay. That's…progress."

"So, how are you?" Max asked, walking into the room and sitting on the inside counter, where I'd put my Rockstar energy drink cans.

"I've been having a pretty…normal day." I left out the bit where I acted like a zombie at the Sunoco station, and the revelation I came to about Good Housekeeping. "We're having a guest speaker come in next week."

"For that cutting classes speech?" Max asked.

"How did you know that?" I asked in surprise.

He shrugged. "Maybe 'cause I heard some kids talking about it."

I narrowed my eyes. "Have you been cutting classes?"

Max rolled his eyes. "Mr. Keefe. Really?"

"Just asking." It wasn't only me trying to keep up the image of Protective Teacher. I wanted the kid to learn; he was like my own son.

"Maybe once."

"Maxwell Perwitz!"

"Ew, come on. You know I hate to be called that."

"What, Maxwell?" I teased. "Maxamillion. Maxie. Maxster."

"Maxathon."

"Maxaroonie."

"Maxine."

"Maximus."

"Maxxon."

"Maxus."

"Maxum."

"Okay, I've run out of names." I laughed.

"Well, I'm going to get revenge on you. Someday." Max warned. "Just as soon as I find some people that know how to get fifty nicknames from 'Casey'."

"Good luck."

Max shifted uneasily.

"What?" I asked.

"How do I break up with Eva?"

Again, the constant string of words that ran like a metronome through my mind, the future's always changing, repeated themselves. I smiled, imagining Max beating Eva to the punch. Well, good for him. He deserved a little pride in something. "How do you break up with anyone?" I asked. "Or just Eva?"

Max sighed. "Do you really have to ask that question?"

So Max hadn't had much experience with girlfriends. "Well, first, you tell the girl what you like about her."

"Won't she be all smiley and thinking I'm going to give her a present or something?" Max scratched the back of his neck wearily.

"Not when she sees how serious you are."

"Okay…but then what?"

"Well, then you tell her that you think you should be alone, without a girlfriend. Let her down gently. Tell her about all the great times and how much you loved and how much she means to you, but then…let her go."

Max looked confused. "So…tell her good things, then bad things, then good things…then…?"

"Give her a hug?" I offered. "Girls like hugs." Geez, I sounded like a ten year old giving advice.

"Okay." Max rolled his shoulders back, then jumped off the counter. He picked up his backpack, then turned around, facing me again. "What if she cries?"

For a moment, I completely forgot Max was even talking to me. I was zoning out, staring at the eye on his t-shirt, and thinking about my wife's eyes. Hazel. She used to tell me that when she was a kid, she wanted blue ones instead, because her third-grade crush liked girls with blue eyes.

"If she cries?" I repeated. "Do you have any Kleenex?"

"Very funny." Max rolled his eyes.

"Well…just…tell her there's nothing to be upset over. That you want her to be happy."

"What if she doesn't stop and then people start looking over? Do I just walk away?"

"No." I shook my head. "You stay with her."

"Until she stops?"

"Until she stops."

Max nodded, and began walking down the hallway. Before he rounded the corner, I shouted, "Hey, Max?"

He slowly turned around.

"She won't cry."

He nodded.

* * *

"She cried."

It was later that day, noon, and I was leafing through Reader's Digest, when Max appeared out of nowhere, a lunch tray in his hand. It was routine: Max would come to my window with his lunch and we would talk about everything. Usually him and I would listen and dole out the best advice I could.

"Did she?" I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. "I thought that…maybe…"

Max took the turkey wrap off the Styrofoam tray and bit into it. Through a full mouth, he said, "She called me an asshole."

I stifled a laugh. "Really?"

Max wiped his mouth. "It's really kind of rude, you know. I took her to a concert yesterday, and even bought a t-shirt for her. Then she repays me with a 'you're an asshole' comment?"

"You broke up with her, though. Girls use cuss words like ammunition." I launched into a very detailed story about my sojourn to Paris I'd had when I was his age. For two whole weeks, this girl and I, Jessica, went to dinners and parties and walks in the park. Then when I had to leave for home, I kissed her and she slapped me across the face, called me a dick, and I never saw her again.

Max couldn't stop laughing. "She slapped you?"

"Yes!" I said indignantly. "And I gave her presents too!"

Max smiled. "So…lesson is, don't buy girls things like diamond earrings, 'cause they could just break up with you and keep them?"

"Of course they'll keep them!" I shook my head, memories of my high school girlfriends dancing in my head.

"So…cheap earrings?"

I knew Max was only trying to lighten the mood; he wasn't that dense. "No, Max, the lesson is…" my voice trailed off as I realized I actually didn't have a lesson stored in my brain waiting.

"There is no lesson?" Max guessed. "It's one of those things I have to learn from?"

"Right. Sure. That's what I was trying to get across." I said sarcastically. "No, Max, the lesson is that all of life is a lesson."

"Thanks, Socrates," Max replied dryly.

"I'm serious, Max!"

"Yeah, yeah." He pushed a straw into his chocolate milk carton. "I get cha."

"But anyways…" I leaned back in my chair. "So are you officially done with girls now? Or is this just the end chapter of Eva?"

Max's knowing smile widened. "I'm thinking it just might be the end chapter of Eva."

Ah, to be young again. "Good to hear your plans have foiled since breakfast."

"Speaking of that, though, I'm still going to do that donut thing someday."

"Of course you will." I nodded. "I don't doubt it for a second."

He laughed. "Thanks for humoring me."

"No problem."

It wasn't until later, much later that day, the last bell, the most anxious for all students and teachers – and even me, because I had had to search for twenty minutes for a book on domestic abuse for a very nervous seventeen year old – that Max came back. Usually he stopped by the window three, four, five times a day, wanting advice, or to tell me a book he'd read, or to ask for food…he'd only come by twice, and I was a little relieved to see him sidling up to the window with a big grin on his face.

"What's got you so happy?" I asked, mostly because I was still in my Monday slump.

"Oh, well, since you asked…" Max said slyly.

"What?" I asked again.

"You know how I'm in sailing club?"

Right. "Sailing club" consisted of five young teenagers, a soon-to-be-retired man, who used to be the tech teacher, and an old boat that had obviously seen better days. They hardly ever practiced in the water, mostly just docked at the shore. But it was one of Max's passions, so I nodded, and said, "Yes."

"Well, we get to go out today! In the water, and I get to steer!" he pumped his fist in the air in excitement. "And Mr. Carroll said we all have to bring a person with us, like a date or a friend. And since I broke up with Eva today, I figured…you would want to come."

My dreary mood immediately brightened. "Are you sure Maximus?"

He grinned wider. "Of course I am. Come on, it'll be funnnnn…." He said in a sing-song tone.

"Alright." I smiled back. "Let's do this."

* * *

They were only allowed to go so far, and Max could only steer for so long, but the little trip around the harbor was pretty fun, and let my mind wander. The crew was actually pretty outstanding for some under-achieving teenagers.

I gave the kid a ride home, and when he unbuckled his seat belt and got ready to get out of the car, I said, "Max?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm always going to be here, I hope you know that. If you ever need something, anything at all…"

"You're the one to call. Got it." He nodded.

I sighed.

"Mr. Keefe."

I looked over at him.

"I know."

I watched him get out of the car, walk up the driveway, and unlock the door to his house.

"Alright, Max," I said to myself.

* * *

Did anyone catch the _Insomnia _by Stephen King reference? Come on!


	17. What ever happened to the heroes?

"Surrender? SURRENDER? You think this letter on my head stands for France?" - Captin America

* * *

_Monday, February 1st. 6:30PM_

* * *

**(Will)**

Casey came barreling into the house at six-thirty, a box of Little Ceaser's pizza under his arm, and a liter of sierra mist in his hand. He stumbled, kicked off his shoes, and then waddled into the kitchen before setting his stuff down and turning to me. He was obviously drunk, and at the perfect time because I'd just watched Melissa get picked up by some soccer mom so she could go work on a social studies project.

"Where did you go?" I asked in bewilderment. He'd texted me to say he was going with Max on this sailing trip, and I highly doubted they were giving out shots of tequila.

"S-s-Sam's," he slurred, flipping open the pizza box.

Well that explained it. Sam was the only cool teacher guy I knew from SBHS; he owned a pub.

"And why did you feel the need to get drunk on a school night?" I asked in exasperation. "You realize you're going to wake up tomorrow with a helluva hangover, right?"

He shoved a piece of pizza in his mouth.

"Fine." I crossed the room, grabbed my own piece, and set it on a plate. God, I was acting more and more like a housewife every day. Using coasters, plates, actually pouring glasses of orange juice instead of drinking it straight from the carton. I'd supposed it stemmed from spending every single day with nothing to do inside Casey's house.

We sat like that for a moment – just eating pizza and sipping sierra mist, before Casey cleared his throat and said in a low voice, "I'm a failure, Will."

Oh God. Did I really have to do this? "Of course you're not, Casey," I said, in the most gentle voice I could muster.

"No, I am," he argued. "M-m-max comes up to me today and he's all, 'you gotta help me with this Eva crisis!' and I'm all, 'kid, I haven't dated anyone since…'" he paused, then looked at me. "You know."

I did know, but I didn't want to. Fact of the matter was, the less I knew about Casey, the better. The way I saw it, I was only just there until I fulfilled whatever destiny Casey thought I had to, and then I was back out on my ass, looking for some shelter. I'd always harbored the wish that the fake-FBI people would just disappear so I could go back to Australia, but I knew that was asking a lot.

"I can't just tell the kid…" he sighed. "Forget it; it doesn't even matter."

Sigh. Of course it mattered. Assuming my best Dr. Phil position, I twisted in my chair and said, "Well, something matters to you, Casey."

He nodded, more to himself than me. "True, true."

"Come on, spill." I nudged him. "What happened today?"

"Nothing." He looked down at the floor.

Jesus Christ, I was dealing with a petulant eight-year old. "Alright, if that's how you feel, then I'm leaving. You hear me? I'm leaving this room and when I do I don't want to hear any more about your issues. Got it?"

That seemed to do the trick. "No, no, wait, Will!"

I turned around, pizza in hand. "Yes?"

He sighed. "Have you ever felt like…you've never done anything worthwhile? Like everything's just been this one big meaningless thing?"

Okay, I was really starting to hate Drunk Casey. "Nope," I lied smoothly, because this was him we were talking about and I really didn't want to start in the whole pity-me thing again, as someone – cough, cough, MAX – complained about me complaining.

"Because I've been feeling like that for a long time." Casey leaned back in his chair. "I mean, I call myself a teacher, but am I really? I help people search for books and find encyclopedias. Is that teaching?"

It seems both Max and Casey have the rhetorical questions thing in common. "I think it is," I said, and I wasn't lying. Casey was one of those guys you just felt comfortable spilling your problems to. He probably helped kids every day, doling out advice.

"I'm not even a good father," Casey lamented. "Where is Melissa, by the way? Melissa! Melissa?"

And then he slumped over onto the table.

"Casey?" I quickly rushed over to him. "Are you alright? Casey?"

"Oliver…" he mumbled to me as I hefted him up and helped him onto the couch in the living room.

"What?" I asked, covering him with a blanket.

"Ma name…O-oliver…"

"Oliver?" I echoed.

"Oliver." He confirmed.

"Okay." I nodded. "Okay, Oliver."

* * *

The next morning, at four-thirty on the dot like always, I awoke and rolled off the mattress that constituted as my bed, and stood up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Had last night all been a dream?

The faint strains of TV on the Radio could be heard through the door, and I thought to myself, Casey said his name was Oliver. His name…is Oliver? Maybe he was too drunk and didn't even know what way left was. I'd ask him.

I opened the door of the garage, put on the slippers waiting for me, and padded into the kitchen, where Casey was starting to make coffee.

"Oliver?" I said quietly, so quietly I'd thought he hadn't heard me, but he whipped around so fast I ducked, and rightfully so, because he threw the cup of coffee directly at me. It smacked the wall and splintered into pieces.

"Holy shit!" I whispered.

"Oh my God, Will, are you okay? I'm so sorry!" Casey – or rather, Oliver – bent down to help me up.

"So it's true." I shook my head in disbelief. "Your name's Oliver."

His eyes widened. "Where did you hear that?"

"Uh, from you," I retorted, "last night, when you were drunk off your ass."

"I was drunk…?" "Casey" seemed to consider this.

"Yeah." I nodded. "You nearly passed out. Why do you think you woke up on the couch this morning?"

"Oh. Oh."

"So…should I start calling you Oliver now or…?"

Casey frantically waves his hands at me in a "shush"-ing motion. "Absolutely not! Never. Ever!"

"Well why did you tell me?" I asked, frustrated. "You've been lying to me this whole time! Your name is Casey! Casey! Not Oliver! Casey Keefe!"

Casey shook his head. "No, it's not, Will. It's Oliver. Oliver Harrison."

All of a sudden, it felt like the room was closing in on me. If he was hiding his name from me, what else was he hiding? Was he one of the "FBI" agents? Had he been lying all along, and this was just an undercover op, a distraction, a trap for me to fall into?

I could feel myself hyperventilating as I tripped backwards and fell.

"Will…" Casey stepped towards me, but I shook my head, and scrambled up, running to the garage. Quickly, I grabbed the L.L. Bean backpack I kept stored in the corner, shoved some clothes and the rest of my money into it, and ran outside, not looking back.

It's not like I knew where I was going, but I walked with purpose.

I reserved a flight to Massachusetts and when I stepped onto the plane, I looked behind me, and felt guilty for leaving the Max kid behind. I wondered what he would be doing in five, ten years from now. What I would be doing. What Casey slash Oliver would be doing. It made me a little choked up to know that I was leaving behind another great life.

I imagined myself thirty years from then, with grown-up kids, who'd ask me, dad, how did all of that start? How it get to that point? And I'd cleverly say, well…it's kind of a funny story.

* * *

_Tuesday, February 2nd, 5:00 AM_

**(Casey/Oliver)**

I get it. This is my entire fault.

If we could just backtrack a bit?

Okay.

So Will. Last name unknown. From Sydney, Australia. Sarcastic. Pessimistic. Cynical.

Refugee.

College dropout.

And above all, like my own son.

But I lied to him – or rather, didn't tell him – and he left. He ran right out of our lives: mine, Max's, even Andrea's. He had every right to, and I felt awful about it. The poor kid, always running, just like me, never knowing who to trust. But the thing is, he did trust me. He put his full trust in me because I put a roof over his head. And when I told him about Max, he just dove into the project, full-force, never doubting me for a second. In fact, he wanted things to run faster, to tell Max how to fight the people that would never leave him alone. But I told him to wait.

I stared at the stain on the white carpet, from the coffee I'd flung at Will that morning out of sheer terror, thinking he were someone else. Someone else who knew my real name. Nothing could get the stain out, and I felt a little embarrassed that a reminder of my failure sat there for all the world to see.

At first, I stood there in the kitchen, my choices in front of me, clearly obvious. I could run after Will, stop him, tell him everything or I could let him go, stay there in Santa Barbra, and try and stop the team. Take them down, along with Max, and Andrea, and any other Special that came our way. I was bound and determined, I was ready.

But I stood still.

It was about five in the morning, and I stood there, completely silent, staring at that stain.

Then I sprang into action, reaching for the phone, and I had my finger above the button and everything…when I realized: Will didn't have a phone. He didn't know anyone in town. He wouldn't have been able to injure himself in the past half hour for me to call any of the hospitals. Airlines had limited access, and I didn't know a skilled hacker, let alone one that would do a job for me right on the spot, no questions asked.

Max.

I could call him.

Instantly, my mind went into, "Oh, crap. Max." mode because I still had neglected to tell Max everything, and right then, I decided I would have to step up to the plate. I would have to confess everything.

But how? Through a phone call? I didn't even know the kid's number. Could I do that at school? Wouldn't people be listening? I could wait for himself outside of the school to talk to him. Alright. I could do that.

My mind racing, I grabbed my bag and was almost out the door when I remembered Melissa. She didn't get up for another two hours. As quickly as I could, I dialed the neighbor's, begged for a quick sitter, promised a huge amount of cash, and was speeding off towards the school like a madman.

In my rush to get to the school, I forgot that Max wouldn't even show up for at least another hour, and out of frustration, dug out my iPod from the glove box, an old Nano, first generation, and allowed myself to succumb to listening to Maroon 5. Yes, a man in his thirties, listening to Maroon 5.

I went through three albums and was about to dig through my collection for Air Supply when I heard the familiar crunching of bike tires on gravel and I could see Max making his way to the bike rack.

"Max!" I rolled down my window. He glanced around, confused, and I called again, "Hey, Max! Over here!"

He jogged over, looking even more confused. "Mr. Keefe? What's going on?"

Hearing that name, that name that wasn't mine, almost made me go back on my plan, but I looked him right in the eyes and said, "There's something you should know…"

"So…you're psychic?" he asked.

The first question out of Max's mouth, after I'd told him all of that, was to confirm if I was psychic or not. I almost laughed in relief. He didn't even seem worried about the fake FBI.

"Yes." I nodded.

"You're psychic?" Max asked. "And all this time…oh my God. You and Andrea…knew about me? Who else has superpowers?" then he craned his neck, searching. "Where's Will?"

"That's the one thing I didn't mention…he, um…found out that I wasn't using my real name around him. He thought I was of them."

Max's eyes widened. "We've got to go get him! We can't just fight these bastards alone!"

"Fight what now?" a familiar voice asked, and as the person stepped out of the early morning shadows, I could see it was Neal Potts. Of course. The time I decide to tell my secret to the one kid who I will know will keep it…

Max looked outraged. "Were you just spying on us?"

"No!" Neal retorted. "It's called distance observation!"

"How much of that did you just hear?" I asked, hearing my voice quiver.

"All of it." Neal folded his arms across his chest and then squared his gaze on Max. "Dude – why didn't you tell me you could control weather? That's awesome; we can have snow days!"

Face palm.

"That's exactly why!" Max pointed at him. "I can't just use this thing all…" he looked to me.

"Willy-nilly?"

He shook his head.

"Excessively?"

Another shake.

"Frivolously?"

He snapped his fingers. "That!"

"And Andrea…that's why she's so hot?" Neal asked incredulously. He then turned back to me. "And you kissed her? Damn, what are you, forty?"

"Neal!" Max hissed.

"No, it's fine." I shot the kid a look. "Actually, I'm thirty-two."

"Well, still." He looked miffed. "That's sick, man."

Max seemed to think about that too, and I quickly changed the subject.

"Anyways, Neal, you have to promise not to tell anyone about this, okay?"

Neal sucked in a breath. "Well, see, that wouldn't be a problem if Ben, Steven, and Samantha hadn't been listening too."

Sure enough, two boys and a girl slowly slid out from behind a Toyota.

"Aw, hell," I muttered.

* * *

**(Ben)**

Whoa, whoa, hold up now! This is not my fault! Neal and Steven practically forced me to –

* * *

**(Steven)**

I did no such thing! Samantha was the one that was all, "You guys want to find out what Max is up to, right?"

* * *

**(Samantha)**

You are not trying to put all this on me!

* * *

**(Casey/Oliver)**

EXCUSE ME! ANYWAYS, this is MY turn to tell the story, free of interruptions! Thank you!

AS I WAS SAYING BEFORE I WAS SO RUDELY INTERRUPTED – Neal and all of his A/V friends snuck up on Max and mine's conversation, so of course I had to include all of them in the plan, while simultaneously ignoring the guilty feeling in my stomach because of Will's departure.

Ah, "the plan". You always see this type of thing in movies like Ocean's 11 and The A-Team. Somehow, a series of shots centering around the techie guys and gadgets being constructed make up "the plan". Usually the most attractive one of the group summarizes all of their actions up with a smile and a few hand gestures, a plan constructed within five minutes that somehow always ends up working in the end.

Our plan definitely was the opposite of that.

First of all, we started on a plan using only poster board and Sharpies. This was even a problem for Max and Neal, who couldn't settle on the "perfect color to map out our strategy". Eventually, Samantha threw every single one into the garbage out of frustration and Max ended up finding a spare one on the floor covered in dust that was half-gone. So our plans ended up being halfway-sketched, using some form of hieroglyphics and anime.

That was all at seven in the morning, in the library, before any students arrived.

When it was about seven-thirty, kids started to arrive in those giant yellow school buses that always remind me of Twinkies, and Max rolled up the poster, promising us he wouldn't let anyone else see it.

Hey – all of you 20+ people out there – are you listening? Don't trust teenagers. Do. Not. Trust. Teenagers. Ever. With. Anything.

Max's poster ended up getting back to Adam. Adam, who was against us. I didn't realize this until we were all at the fake-FBI's building. But we'll get to that when we get to that.

But anyways. That was only the launching of the plan. And it took nearly four months for it all to come together. No, not the actual planning of the plan. I'm talking about the planning of the planning of the plan.

See, I'd envisioned the plan about a year before Andrea and Max even showed up to the school. I'd thought everything out, had all of my ideas written down, and then Neal and Will and all the A/V kids came along and just…screwed it all up. That's not to say I don't appreciate their help or even enjoy their presence – I do. But they're teenagers.

And you can't trust teenagers.

But anyways. That was only day one of the plan. It actually required weeks of time, much more than those cheesy action flicks tell you it takes.


	18. Neal Potts: PI

A/N: My birthday was Thursday! Ahh! My party is in a few hours so I managed to upload this bad boy - ha ha - so eat your fruits and vegetables, go swimming if there's good weather in your state, and pet a puppy! Oh, and by the way, last chapter I wrote Andrea was moving to SOUTH Carolina, but I meant NORTH Carolina. Sorry! And if my book were a movie, Stop Crying Your Heart Out by Oasis would be playing right about now.

* * *

"All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking to the stars." – Oscar Wilde

* * *

_Two weeks later..._

February 22nd, Saturday, 4:00PM

**(Neal)**

Wow, you know Casey made it sound like we were all pesky little kids! Oh, woe is me, I have to work with teenagers, let me bitch and complain some more. Come on, seriously. I didn't even want to spy, but Steven and Ben somehow came to a resolution with Samantha and all of a sudden we were drawing and reviewing and mapping and planning on an attack to some weird-ass people that posed as the FBI, wanting kids like Max, with special "abilities", to work for them. Forever. The way Casey told it, Max was one of the very lucky ones, on a leash of sorts. Some of the "prisoners" were forced to stay there, but Max had free reign, and Casey had said he assumed it was that way because of how easy it was to manipulate Max. (I laughed at this part, but Max was a little mad). Oh! I almost forgot! Samantha and I were/are dating. She's pretty smart. I used to just like it when girls were less intelligent than me, but it's actually alright now, now that I'm in the A/V club and working to get even smarter. Which reminds me, Steven said that I have a natural talent for fixing computers, and it made me think about how I might just have a career in that someday. It's not so bad, I guess. I could be one of those hackers that you see in the movies all the time.

Anyways so on Wednesday, I passed Andrea in the hallway and I waved, being the friendly guy that I am, and she actually waved back. Ever since she joined the A/V club – and got together with Steven – she'd been a little happier, walking a little taller. It was still sad to know that she would be moving in the fall, though. Max and I texted every night at that point, because both of our schedules were just overwhelming, and it was the only time we could talk freely. He mentioned Andrea's move once or twice, and how he kind of missed her, but the feeling was starting to go away. He talked about his and Eva's breakup, which was pretty embarrassing, he'd said, to have her wailing and shouting at him in the library when he had tried to be as nice and as delicate as possible. I told him about Samantha, and programming that Ben was teaching me, and the website we were all working on. Sometimes I asked him how his family was doing and he'd ask me in return. My dad was actually pretty okay, now that he was on the "good stuff". He didn't stay in the basement as much and Justin seemed a little more open to talk with me. It was a slow progress, but it was progress just the same.

Mr. Keefe told me to keep an eye on anyone that seemed even a little bit interested in me or Max or Andrea or even him. So, I did that, and, call me whatever synonym you can for conceited – but I was pretty bad-ass with the results.

Turns out while Max was being entirely clueless about Adam's way too close friendship with him, Adam was taking notes, recording conversations, logging every little detail about him and reporting it all back to these poseur-FBI people. I found out one day when I walked in on Adam, alone in the earth science room, listening to the playback of a recording. It was Max, going on a tangent about this movie he had watched, Accepted, and Adam's cheeks had colored bright red when I'd demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Uh…I just...it's kind of embarrassing, but I have to do this project for Honors English…it's about conversations we have with our friends." He looked so caught, immediately my "Casey-flag" went up. Adam was a spy, he had been all along. It almost made me feel embarrassed that I hadn't noticed it in the first place, all the obvious signs. Plus, Honors English was only for the sophomores up. Freshman got to apply in June. Unless Adam was secretly a sophomore in disguise – which could have been possible – he was flat-out lying.

So, being the awesome PI that I am, I managed to snag the recorder out of his bag when he was in gym class. For a fake-FBI agent, he was pretty clueless on the ways of leaving your crap lying around for anyone to take.

When I gave it to the Crew (Samantha, Steven, Andrea, Ben) they were all encouraging, patting me on the back and pumping their fists in the air in excitement, like maybe we would finally get somewhere with this "plan" that Mr. Keefe won't stop obsessing about, but then I halted in my tracks, completely dumbfounded. I'd found another flaw in my intelligence: that Samuel guy was around Adam too. They must have been in "cahoots" together, because Samuel always looked calm and collected, but also show-offy, if you get what I'm saying, like he was in on something with Adam and knew he was better at it. It made me pissed, because one, that was Max's life and Mr. Keefe's life and Andrea's life and speaking of Andrea, God, that just drove me up the wall, knowing that it wasn't her looks or her intelligence (although they were both great) that made me attracted to her, it was that power, or more like a curse, that made all guys so drawn to her and sometimes I thought about it, guiltily, because I was dating Samantha and shouldn't be thinking other girls are hot. And it was weird because Steven knew about her powers and wasn't even upset by it. He still wanted to date her. And two, I always hated kids like that; ones that thought they were better when all the other kids were cowering in fear, hoping that they were doing alright in this world. And, since I'm on such a roll of what pisses me off: Trix cereal, because that damn rabbit freaks me out, mechanical pencils, because their tips always snap at the lightest touch, grape soda, which should go without any explanation, Taylor Lautner, because all the girls in our school obsess over him, that show The Office, because it's really not all that funny, volleyball players, girl and guy players, documentaries, and…people who whine, like me.

So, like I was saying, I started to buddy up with Samuel, and I even tried to sneak in on his and Adam's conversations. It made for some pretty awkward positions and weird glances from passersby. Eventually though, I caught a few snippets, and discovered that "Samuel" was actually "Reid." Damn, what was it with people changing their names all of a sudden? Did it give me the right to call myself Fred, all of a sudden? No.

And you'd think Reid would be a totally psychotic guy, because he was working for the strange people, and he was always wearing this look on his face, like…alien-like or something. But he was actually pretty normal, and that was his thing man, to act normal so that you'd be friends with him or something.

So Reid and Adam had been secretly spying on Max, Mr. Keefe, and Andrea all that time. It really got on my nerves. I mean, Adam? He couldn't even hide a Playboy under his mattress!

Then one day Max and I got to be alone together. My A/V club meeting had been cancelled due to Steven and Ben's lack of creative thought for what we would do for the day and Max had managed to evade the "FBI". The local diner down the street was open, so I took the liberty of asking him to meet me there, he agreed, and then I had told him as politely as I could that since the fake FBI people were paying him so much damn money, that he would have to pay for lunch.

We were both sitting across each other, waiting for a waitress, when I asked, "So how's it feel to be a Special?"

Max looked uneasy for a moment, as if someone might hear us and actually understand what he was saying, but then he brightened as he said, "It's pretty awesome."

"Do any of your family members…?" I let my voice trail off in the question – what I wanted to ask, if any of his other family members had abilities like him, but at the risk of gushing like a crazed Star Trek fan at Comic-Con, I stopped.

Max shook his head. "If they do, they haven't told me. Can you imagine my dad, having superpowers?"

I smiled. "No." then, to be polite, he asked, "How's it like being…normal?"

"Awful." I joked. "No, actually…I've been missing you, Max. We used to be such great friends. What happened?" I asked in fake-wistfulness. By the way Max's face seemed to crumple, I knew I had made a mistake in asking that question. It was obvious both of us could feel the tension resting between us, like a giant block of ice that was refusing to melt.

"Life," Max finally answered, and I was startled to realize he'd actually answered my question, when I'd been too busy looking down at the sticky tabletop for a distraction. "Life happened, Neal."

At the risk of making the conversation any more awkward, I cleared my throat and hesitantly said, "Yeah…I acted like an ass…punched you in the face…you started dating Andrea…then I kissed Andrea…then you guys broke up…"

"We didn't break up because of that." Max said calmly, and for a brief moment I wondered if that was the same face he had used to break up with Eva. "We broke up because I didn't love her because I loved her. I loved her because of her power…and that wasn't enough for me."

Wow. "Do you think that-!" I started, but just then, a waitress stopped in front us to take our drink orders. I asked for a diet Coke, Max for a Pepsi. I almost laughed at the two rival sodas' similarities, with Max and I.

Once the waitress sauntered off, I started to ask the question again, but Max blurted, "Andrea's mother came to visit me."

"What?" I asked in disbelief. During the brief time I had dated Andrea, her mother was one of the only conversations she got emotional about. Her mom had practically abandoned her family and if Max had met her and Andrea knew about it…I shook my head.

"I know." Max rubbed his temples slowly, as if both relieved and nervous for this information to finally be let out. "She called me at that stupid pep rally and asked me to meet her at this café. We only talked for about thirty minutes and then she just up and left, but not before leaving me with more extremely cryptic information about people and things I don't understand. Which is apparently everything."

For a moment, I thought about how little consideration I had taken for Max's well-being. Obviously his physical state was alright, but on the inside, he was most likely battling a number of morals and hearing those weird voice-overs people always get when they're about to do something extremely stupid or extremely heroic. I could tell he was one of those deep-thinker guys, I could tell from the very first day I met him. Every day was probably a struggle, wondering, should I do this or would this be a bad thing if…? And finally realizing all of that had made me feel like the worst PI ever.

"And to make it all worse," Max continued, not even looking at me now, but at something in the distance. "She told me she would visit Andrea and Rob someday, but she hasn't yet, and I just know that she's never going to and I'm going to have to live with this…guilt for the rest of my life because I can't tell Andrea I met her mother and then she just left all in the duration of half an hour. I can't."

"I know you can't." I mumbled, but he didn't seem to hear me.

"The crazy thing is, Mr. Keefe's a psychic, right? He knew about all this all along, and he just let it drag on and put me through this. He could have stopped it. I'm exhausted, Neal."

The waitress stopped at our table, setting down our plastic glasses, and I smiled and thanked her before turning to Max. "Look, Max, I'm not even going to pretend that I understand what you're going through, but I do know that Mr. Keefe really cares about you. If he had told you point-blank, before you even knew that you had powers, wouldn't you run in the other direction, terrified, thinking he's a psycho?"

Max seemed to mull this over for a moment, and I took the opportunity to plow on through, before his blabbering mouth could interrupt any possible philosophical sayings I had left. "Mr. Keefe knew when you needed him and you knew when you needed him. You could have not even taken the fake-FBI's offer to work for them. That was all your decision. Placing the blame on someone else isn't the greatest idea at this point, don't you think?"

Max opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, and then opened it again. "Thanks."

The waitress came back by our table to take our food orders.

The next few minutes were silent, and to break the awkward-ness of it all, I brought up the latest book I'd read, The Kite Runner, and how it had made Samantha cry when I read the most moving parts out of it, and how Ben said if I liked that, then shouldn't I read Catch 22 and Gravity's Rainbow, and typically I read those and really liked them and then Max held up his hand – "Neal," he said solemnly.

"What?" I looked up; realizing the wrapper that had come on my straw was curled up into a snake-like shape.

"I cried in The Kite Runner too."

And that's when I knew Max and I were good again, because Max could tell that Amir didn't make Samantha upset (in fact, when I had given her the book to read, she had flipped through it, said that she wasn't a fan of "war stories" which had actually started our first argument), he had made me upset. In a not gay way it made all of my "Max feelings" come back, like the joy you get on the first - or depending on your preference – last day of school, like there's all this potential right there and you're excited and happy but also not because there's work to be done and you just want to pretend that it's not there until you get there.

Max picked up his glass of soda and sipped it and I decided that now I'd have to get serious for a moment. "So I'm starting this club."

Max's eyes widened in surprise, a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, really? What's it called?"

I could tell he was mocking me, probably thinking it was some Watchmen tribute thing, but I smiled and said, "It doesn't have a name yet," I said carefully, "but it's for students against destructive decisions."

"S.A.D.D.?"

Oh, crap. "Well, I'll switch it around." I mumbled.

"That's great though, Neal." Max encouraged. "Really great." I could tell he not only knew about my The Kite Runner thing, but also about why I had gone to the principal to create the club; you all have heard it here, folks, Neal Potts is sensitive. Seeing Ben get threatened like that, it really bothered me. I mean, if you've ever read a newspaper or watched a PSA or even turned on the news once in a while because nothing else was on, you would know that some kids have gone through so much torture that they decide to end their lives, and that's just messed up. I remember in elementary school, I was that kid that everyone always paid attention to, and who had so many friends he could be choosy in who he wanted to hang out with, and you never pick to hang out with the quiet kid in the back who doodles on their desk and has these dreams of parasailing across the Everglades and what have you.

"Thanks." I nodded, but then remembered why I was there. "You've done some good stuff for the world and all that, haven't you?" I didn't ask if some of that stuff hadn't been by his own free will, because I knew it hadn't.

"Yeah, actually, I have." Max seemed to smile at a memory. "The um…fake FBI people, well, before I started avoiding them"-that was Mr. Keefe's plan, by the way, to avoid the FBI's calls and dodge around their "surprise arrivals" at the school-"they had me do this project with these other kids that they had there. But at the time, I didn't think they were prisoners, you know?"

I nodded.

"Anyway, so we had to protect some lame painting that other people were going to try and steal, and so we were all just sitting around, waiting for them, in regular street clothes, too! I mean, I always thought they would make us wear these black-on-black deals. I mean…yeah. Anyways, so the people showed up, and you could see them from the inside but then one of my partners was all, 'just do something!' because we really hadn't formulated a plan and so I ended up making it flood from this river out back, and so they got swept away by the current. I'm pretty sure they're alright, though. That's what Agent Lunse told me."

Aside from the fact that Max's short career as a supernatural spy was forced, I could tell he had really enjoyed it, and it felt odd to know that, like it was some secret that he couldn't tell, like that he kept that boxed set of Freaks and Geeks hidden underneath his bed. (It was a sleepover and Max was in the bathroom and I thought if Mr. Keefe really wanted me to be a good PI, I'd have to actually investigate). And also, hearing the words "Agent Lunse" come so casually out of Max's mouth was kind of awkward and professional at the same time.

"So the painting was safe?" I asked, and for a minute I imagined what the painting looked like. Probably one of those stupid ones of the Campbell's soup can.

Max nodded. "Yep. We were told we had to stay until the rich people came home so we did and then they gave us all food. And tipped us." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a brown leather wallet, and slid it across the table towards me.

It was like we were little kids again, marveling at the amount of money one of us had received from a birthday. I opened it, and my eyes widened at the stack of hundreds taking up all of the room, completely eclipsing the lone five that had probably been there long before Max had started working for the "FBI". Remembering that, I tilted the wallet and saw a badge that probably looked familiar to the actual FBI's badges, and Max's face plastered on it. He looked so…eager. Excited, ready to work, all that. It made me feel semi-guilty about taking it all away from him, but then I remembered that "they" had threatened Max's life and more importantly, his family's lives, and were basically blackmailing him and then my guilt subsided to make way for anger.

The waitress stopped by to set down our plates: an everything bagel and French fries for me, a ham and cheese sandwich with home fries for Max. It wasn't until I was halfway down wolfing down my bagel, that I remembered to ask, "Why did you and Eva break up?" I mean, we had talked about it, but not really why, more like how.

Max wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Why did Eva and I break up?" He repeated, as if he himself didn't even know the answer. "Good question."

Good question. Made me think of what teachers always say when they don't know the answer to a question.

"Why…did…we…break up…?" Max muttered to himself. Then, it was if a light bulb clicked on, and he went, "Well, Eva and I were great, Neal. I mean, she was Adam's ex, and I felt bad about 'stealing' her, but we were perfect. No drama, just calm, relaxed stuff, you know? And she was awesome. It was just me, because I had to deal with everything going on and Eva was just…like…a burden? I don't want to insult her, but that's what it felt like, so I had to break up with her. You've seen Spider-Man; you know what happens."

Did I? Peter always got with Mary-Jane at the end. "Man, you gotta shake this," I advised him. "You know Andrea loves you. Shouldn't that be all that matters?"

"But shouldn't I love her?"

"Don't you?"

That made him stop. "Well…yes. But how would I know if I really did or not?"

I crossed my arms. "The way I see it Max, I dated her, and you know what, after I stopped hanging out with her and started dating Samantha and joined the A/V club, I realized I didn't love her. I loved the idea of her. But you've been separated from her for a while, Max, and you still think about her. That's true love, man, not the powers speaking."

Max stared straight at me, but I knew I wasn't who he was looking at. "Yeah…I guess you're right." He said slowly, finally coming to the revelation.

"I know I am." I winked. He smiled and then looked down at his plate.

"Go to her," I encouraged.

He looked up.

"Go," I said again.

"Right now?"

"Right now."

He tossed me one of his hundreds, grabbed his jacket, and then ran out of there.

I smiled.

* * *

**(Max)**

Neal's a great guy, huh? I mean, I guess it took like a year to figure that out. But wow.

I ran all the way to Andrea's house – don't ask how I knew which one was hers – and by the time I was on her front porch, I was huffing and puffing, cursing yet again my lack of athleticism.

I rang the doorbell and thought of what I would say when she opened it.

And then she opened it.

"Andrea," I blurted out as soon as I saw her face. "I figured something out today and I love you. At first, the whole powers thing got me really upset but then I figured it out – that I love you and I don't care if all of the fake agencies in the world come after me. I'm never going to stop feeling the way I do about you and…do you…feel the same way?"

All of a sudden, the door opened wider, and Andrea's mother stood there, a gun in her hand, pointed directly at Andrea's back.

"Max," she said with faux sweetness, "come inside."

I gulped.


	19. I can explain

A/N: So this ending is kinda...eh. This is the penultimate chapter, so there's still some stuff to clear up but other than that I'd say CTLT is closed and I've got to go study for my tests. Later. Ha-ha.

* * *

"A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for." - William Shedd

* * *

_February 22nd, Saturday, 6:52PM_

**(Neal)**

I know, I know. Max getting captured by Andrea's mother? Total plot twist that I hadn't seen coming either. Just kidding. I totally had. But anyways, on with my part…

I sat at that diner for another two hours, mindlessly shoveling forkfuls of food into my mouth and wondering if Max had successfully "wooed" Andrea. I knew how close she and Steven had gotten and maybe that had discouraged him. Maybe he had shown up to her house only to have Steven answer the door. Thinking of all these things completely distracted me and I was almost floored to see Reid sidling into the place, eyes darting around, and then finally settling on me. Panicked, I flung my napkin aside, and got up from the table, already knowing why he was there.

The next few moments I knew Max would have been proud to witness, if only to document the fact that every chase scene in the movies were one hundred percent right – at least in this case.

I started running for the back exit, only to realize it was an emergency one, and being the dumbass that I am, decided not to set off an alarm for the police to come speeding to my rescue. I headed for the kitchen, and ran through mazes of chefs frying eggs and sorting salads. I slid underneath two men carrying a giant loaf of bread, and when I glanced behind me for just a _second_, I could see Reid was not far behind. Thankfully, I was wearing my good shoes, and wasn't wearing ridiculous-looking loafers like he was. The exit, however, was temporarily blocked by a kid no older than me, resting against the glass door from the outside, smoking a cigarette.

Again, a stupid decision of mine, I bolted to the left, right into the area where two kids even younger than me were washing plates with the enthusiasm of morgue visitors. They looked up in alarm, and I grabbed the nozzle thing…oh you know, the thing you use to spray water, and aimed it at Reid.

He laughed. "That's the best you've got?"

"At this juncture, I can't say otherwise." In my panic of not being beaten to death, I was blurting words even I didn't understand. I blame Steven and Ben's expansive vocabularies.

When Reid didn't respond, just flashed me that signature smirk, I added, "What have you got, a fork?" I could see something clenched in his hand tightly, and figured it had to be some form of cutlery, given we were in a diner.

"Actually," he uncurled his fist, and I could see it, there in all its glory, a knife. Not a huge, cake-cutting knife or a rounded bread knife or a teensy, weensy, butter knife, but a steak knife. It probably doesn't sound ideal, but at the moment I was glad the headline wouldn't read, TEEN IMPALED BY BUTTER KNIFE.

I kind of shrugged, as if to say, _go on, do your worst, _but we both just stood there, about thirty or so chefs staring at us, and none of them bothering to move to call the police. In retrospect, I'm kinda pissed off at them.

Okay, no, I'm _very _pissed off at them.

"Where's your little friend, Neal?" he asked, and right then I knew. I knew that he knew what I knew. Okay, I knew that he knew what I knew that he didn't want me to know…ugh, never mind! I just knew bad things and he was probably going to off me for it, but not before interrogating me on Max's whereabouts. Which I wasn't going to reveal.

"Not saying a word."

"Oh really, because my knife here says otherwise."

Damn Reid and all of his secret-spy-guy glory. If I ever made it out of there, I would enroll in a self-defense class. "You're at a pretty far distance." I retorted, unaware that he had in fact, inched closer while we were talking.

And just like that…Reid threw the knife.

* * *

**(Casey) **

All hell seemed to break loose on Saturday.

Our plan – and when I say _our plan, _I'm using the term loosely, given that Neal, Steven, Ben, Samantha, the rest of their tech crew, and Max all were in on this – was supposed to be carried out the next month. Steven and Ben were intent on breaking into the fake-FBI's building, hacking their "database", completely destroying it, and then setting all of the defenseless kids free. The agents would be forced to evacuate – as Neal had pointed out, he would be starting the fire that would burn the place to the ground – and then all would be right again. Max would be free to roam as he pleased and Adam and Reid would have to be taken into custody for some "crimes" that Steven would make sure would show up on their records. No one had a problem with the plan, in fact, I'd say it was one of the best we'd ever come up with. The first plan we ever made involved a stake-out with the "proper music and refreshments" (Neal/Max/Steven).

But no, the plan was unable to be carried out because on Saturday, I got a phone call from Max asking me to come to some address because he needed to go over the plan. Exhausted from a day of coaching the debate team, I almost declined, but something in his voice made me stop, and agree to go.

I wasn't expecting that.

I wasn't expecting Andrea's mother, Ashley, to be practically crouched at the door, pointing a gun directly in my face and friggen irony, isn't it. It's like someone out there – whoever or whatever had gifted me with psychic abilities – was laughing their ass off because despite knowing the future, I still couldn't have predicted that.

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded of Max and Andrea, who sat on the couch in absolute terror. I suppose I shouldn't have expected a response from either of them, but Max spoke, "She's a psycho bitch, is what," he hissed, wincing at an unknown injury, and then added, "And she's not even Andrea's mother. She totally BS'd me, man."

_Seriously, _I wanted to shout, _could I have just one break? Once? _I had known Andrea was desperate for her mother to reappear, and from the look on her face I could tell it _was _her. So why was Max saying all of that? And more importantly, why wasn't I just kicking this strange woman in the face so we could all move on with our lives? Doing exactly what my thought process demanded, I lunged for her, stretched out my leg, and gave the woman a good smack with the heel of my sneaker. She fell, crumpling onto the floor, and clutched her cheek with a moan. Before I could let that go any further, I reached for the gun and pointed it directly at her.

"Tell me what the hell is going on!"

"I'll tell you!" An all-too-familiar voice broke through the tension, and in walked agents Henry and Erica, the same two agents that had all at one time been in my life. The ones that were now currently running many other peoples' lives.

"Ms. _Ontario _here thought that she could take Max on _her _side." Henry rolled his brown eyes. "Running a rival agency without even a name?"

"You're the ones that pretended to be the FBI," Max mumbled crossly from his spot on the couch.

"Oh lookie here, this kid finally figured it out!" Henry hissed.

"Hey!" I pointed the gun at him, though; reflecting back on it now, was pretty useless because he was armed also. "If this isn't Andrea's mother…then who is she?"

"Daphne Ontario," Erica filled in. "She was working for _us _a year ago. And then she just…broke off the radar, wanting to start her own agency. She said it would work. She _said _she'd create an army."

Ignoring that, I asked, "So then where's Andrea's mother?"  
"She died in a plane crash six months ago." Daphne, who was still on the floor, mumbled.

"Someone clarify, please," I pleaded; convinced this was all just a dream.

"Daphne posed as Ashley because she was trying to convince Max to stop working for _us _and join her agency. It was obviously not thought out, because look where we are right now." Henry gestured to Max and Andrea. "We have our best agent knowing all of our secrets and his ex-girlfriend absolutely terrified."

Andrea bit her lip, clearly upset at the news about her mother.

"Which means," Henry continued, "that some people here have to die." He pulled out his own gun and aimed it at the kids. "Which one's going first?" then he turned back to me. "Huh. I thought I'd recognized you. It's Oliver Harrison!" he turned to Erica. "Remember him? The psychic freak?"

_Freak_?

Erica nodded.

"No matter." Henry shrugged. "The show must go on, after all." He clicked off the safety off his gun.

Before I could even blink my eyes, Henry's gun was kicked out of his hand. It skidded across the linoleum floor, and Erica dove to Henry's side – he had fallen onto the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Two _thwipp_ing noises however, had both Henry and Erica rendered unconscious. And then Daphne, too, was hit with some mysterious bullet. My mouth was wide open, completely shell-shocked, and Max and Andrea just stared at the three bodies lying in front of us. Then I remembered…the invisible force.

"Will?" I asked, slowly, tentatively.

When he shimmered into view, all six foot two inches of him, I stepped forward and wrapped him in an embrace. Neither of us really had to say what we were both thinking, _I'm sorry. _

Will displayed the tranquilizer gun to me by way of explanation of the unconscious bodies. "I picked up this baby by a few helpful friends." He winked at Max, and Max laughed shakily.

"Hey, Andrea," Will waved at her.

"Hi…" Andrea smiled thinly.

Will turned back to me. "Now what the hell do you suppose we do now?"

* * *

**(Will)**

I guess you could say I had a change of heart.

Living in the slums, so to speak, in Boston made me really think about Casey and how nice his house had been.

Just kidding.

What I was really thinking about was Max and the whole plan with keeping him safe and how guilty Casey must have felt so I flew back and…kind of got some help from a computer major in hacking his phone that had been left on the counter in his house and next thing you know I'm standing outside Andrea Portland's house, the girl I saved from that car, and Max is there and there's all this yelling about conspiracies and who-knows-what, so I unleashed my tranquilizer gun (another gift from a friend) and was given an explanation, moments later, over steaming cups of coffee.

Casey and I sat in the kitchen and talked lowly, quietly, trying not to disturb Max and Andrea, who were also having their own conversation, right next to the unconscious bodies that we still didn't know what to do with.

"You alright?" Casey asked me, sliding a mug my way. I gratefully accepted it and didn't even wince at the scorching-hot liquid.

I nodded, and then got right into what we needed to talk about. "So…a lot of crap's happened since I left, huh?"

Casey, or rather, Oliver, as I should be calling him, nodded. "Yes. It appears Max had thought he met Andrea's mother, Ashley, but it turned out she was just a woman pretending to be her. Andrea's mother, Ashley, has actually died in a plane crash. Right after she left Andrea's dad and brother."

"And they never found her remains?" I asked in surprise, sneaking a quick glance at Andrea. She looked completely worn out by the day's events.

"Apparently not." Casey shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell her father."

"The truth." I blurted it so quickly that I almost saw him recoil, and I knew he was going to get all fatherly.

"Will…I feel awful about what happened."

"You shouldn't."

"But I do." His features softened. "How did you…I mean…what did you do? You had no money."

I shrugged. "Got a job flipping burgers, lived in a cheap motel."

Casey smiled thinly. "You really should think about finishing college."

_College. _People were probably going to die today, and he wanted to talk about college. "Look, C-_Oliver_, I really don't think we should be talking about this right now. Just fill me in on what we're supposed to be doing."

Casey looked concerned. "I don't know, Will. I mean, what are we supposed to do? We can't very well kill these people."

"We can't?"

A glare.

"Kidding!" I quickly amended. "But seriously…I think I have a plan."

"Do tell."

"Alright, so we've got those techie kids on our sides, right?" I asked, and he nodded, not questioning how I knew that either. This was, yet again, helped by my computer major back in Sydney. "All we've got to do is release the kids from their prisons. That's easy. What we do is set Henry, Erica, and this pretending-to-be-Ashley chick up. We bring them back to their domain and then expose their cover to the news. Next thing you know they're in some deep you-know-what and we're all free to go home."

"How's that going to work out, people knowing others have powers?"

"It won't. That's why we're going to make it look like they're posing as the FBI so that they can get government secrets. Then these spy kids…what were their names?"

"Reid and Adam."

"Yeah, them. Henry and Erica will lie and say that they have a special mission for them in some out-there place, like Peru, and they'll be so eager to please, they will immediately leave. The chances of seeing them again are slim."

Casey seemed impressed. "How sure are you on this?"

I shrugged. "Eh. Sixty. Sixty-five percent."

"Well, we've gone on much less before."

* * *

**(Max)**

Can I just say how awesome that was? Great job, fates of conspiracy. Or well, lack thereof. I mean, you could kind of see where that was going, couldn't you?

Andrea and I had a long talk before we carried out The Plan and it wasn't pretty. Or nice. Or…anything else.

"So…you're dating Steven."

"I am."

"How's that going?"

"Good."

"Did you know Neal and I are friends again?  
"Are you?"

"Yep."

"That's pretty cool."

_Rrring_! My cell phone sounded, and I quickly rushed to answer it, because the moment was so awkward I couldn't take it. "Hello?"

"_Hey…" _

"Neal?" I asked, noting how weak he sounded, just saying hello.

"_I may be in a _bit _of trouble…" _

"What happened?" I demanded, standing up.

"_Uh…can I just say Reid is a psycho? Seriously, that guy is like…a Bounty Hunter…or something." _

"Neal, tell me what happened!" I pleaded. I could see Andrea's face crinkling with worry.

"_I'm kind of…injured."_

"Where are you?"

* * *

**(Andrea)**

Neal was hiding at the train station.

Will drove, and Mr. Keefe tried to keep pleasant conversation, but all I could think of was that my mom was dead and all that time I'd been holding out, praying, hoping for a miracle, and receiving nothing in return. I couldn't believe no one had contacted us to say that she'd died. Maybe no one had found her remains. I held my stomach, feeling it churn.

"Uh…you gonna be sick?" Max asked from next to me.

And another thing! Max had shown up to tell me that he loved me! He honestly, truly, without a doubt, loved me! He honestly believed my powers had nothing to do with it and I had no response. I was absolutely speechless. Did I….could I…would I? I fingered my necklace, a wishbone, given by Steven, and remembered that I was in a relationship. A good, stable relationship.

"No," I whispered. "I'll be fine."

We showed up to the train station in twenty-five minutes, Agents Henry and Erica and Daphne Ontario all piled in Mr. Keefe's minivan's trunk. It was extremely gross.

"Where is he?" Max asked no one in particular, craning his neck to see.

I scanned the benches and then I saw a piece of fabric blowing in the wind. I pointed, "There!"

Leaning up against the old payphone booth, was Neal Potts, in all his glory, clutching his abdomen and wincing. Immediately, we all ran to him, me probably the slowest, because I could not handle anything else today.

"Hey…guys…" Neal was slowly breathing in and out, and I could see blood spilling out over his hand, dripping through his fingers. My stomach churned once more. His short black hair was in all directions, his skin a sallow, pale color. His blue t-shirt was stained with various spatters of blood and there was a rip in his jeans. One look at those things and you knew he was in bad shape; he was always gloating about those jeans being hundreds of dollars and flown in specially from Italy and right then…he wasn't making any complaints about their status.

"Oh my God…" Max whispered, and he seemed to fall to his knees by his best friend. "What the hell happened?" then, his eyes darkened. "Is this why you mentioned Reid? _He _did this?"

Mr. Keefe whipped out his cell phone, probably to call 911, but Will held his arm. "Don't." he mouthed, and then shed his jacket. He offered it to Max, who laid it on Neal's shoulders with trembling hands.

"He knew…I was onto him." Neal choked out. "He wanted…to…know where Max was."

Max's face crumpled, and I could see it, he was going to cry. _No, _I pleaded, _don't…not after everything else today…don't let Neal die. _

Neal forced out a laugh. "He fricken impaled me with a steak knife."

"At the diner?" Max asked in disbelief.

Neal shuddered, obviously cold, and Mr. Keefe took off his jacket too.

"We really should call the police," He said out of the side of his mouth to Will.

"You think someone won't want to know how it happened?" Will snapped. "How will we explain that?"

I turned my attention back to Neal. Seeing him so vulnerable, so weak, made my eyes tear up, and I quickly wiped them. Max was openly weeping, clutching Neal in his arms.

"How did you even get here?" he asked.

"I uh…I walked. Reid chased me out of there…and we-we got to parking lot and…and Adam was there and they…"

"They what, Neal?" Max asked gently.

"They fought, I guess. Adam saw me and started freaking out at Reid. That's when I took off."

"How…?" Max couldn't bring himself to ask the question and I too wondered how Neal had managed to do all of that while having a knife found in his abdomen.

"But it's cool…" Neal slowly closed his eyes. "Dying the hero. I thought that honor was going to go to you, man."

"Neal." Max said, gritting his teeth, his voice clouded by tears. "You are not going to die. We're going to get you some help."

"I'm not calling an ambulance." Will said defiantly.

"Quit being such a dick!" I hissed at him. He looked offended, but Mr. Keefe said quickly, "You want to be a paramedic, don't you Max?"

He nodded.

"I have a first aide kit in my car. Want to put those skills to the test?"


	20. The Finish Line

A/N: So...last chapter! I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm really proud I got this last chapter finished the way I wanted it and thanks all you guys for being so supportive and wonderful with your awesome comments! Of course there will be another story, but I'm just going to leave it at three. I think that's good. Also, in the last line Max calls Oliver "Casey" because he's been calling him that the whole story. Anyways, if my book was a movie, the song We Are The People by Feeder would be playing for this scene and it really goes with the whole story so if you could just like YouTube it and listen to it in the background as you read? That would be awesome! And...have a great summer everybody! See you all in September :D

* * *

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." – Margaret Mead

* * *

_September 1st, Saturday, 3:00PM_

**(Neal)d**

So…I lived. Bet you never thought that would happen, huh? I didn't think it either, to be honest. I thought for sure my demise was going to be met at a crowded diner in the middle of downtown Santa Barbra, surrounded by chefs. _Kidding. _Geez.

I know you're wondering what happened, so, let me catch you up:

After Max patched me up with some _Grey's Anatomy-_esque results, Will gave me some pain medication and I fell asleep in the back of Mr. Keefe's minivan, so I totally missed the awesome kick-ass scene where people get beat up and explosions happen. No explosions actually happened, though. Steven and Ben's plan went out the window when Will took charge. Which reminds me…who put him in charge?

Anyway, Ben helped break through the fake-FBI-we-want-people-with-superpowers-to-do-our-dirty-work agency's security, and pretty soon, hundreds of little supernatural teenagers were running the streets. Steven, Mr. Keefe, and Will all helped to frame Henry, Erica, and Daphne into confessing the "we made ourselves look like the FBI so that we could get government secrets" angle.

Before that, though, they had Erica call Reid up, wherever that sick bastard was, and ordered him to leave on the next flight to Peru and await instructions. The initial plan was to include Adam, but at the last second, he vanished without a trace and none of us really bothered to look for him.

So, in short, the bad people lost and the good people won. Max went back to his normal life and Will moved back in with Mr. Keefe, who had taken his real name, Oliver Harrison back, and quit the job at the high school to open up his own library. Andrea broke it to her brother and dad that her mom had died and I'm sure there were a lot of tears and plenty regrets that day. I guess he was inspired by confessions, because Max told Sarah everything and she was pretty pissed but understand why he hadn't said anything and promised not to tell their parents if she could tag along on his "practices". Steven and Andrea broke up in March and then she and Max dated again, but only briefly, because they both knew she was going to be leaving in the fall anyway. I got to sport a nice-looking scar during swimming season and narrowly avoided getting an infection.

The rest of the school year was pretty uneventful, save for my earth science Regents, which I failed miserably, and so did Max. Actually, so did the one hundred and ten students out of one hundred and fifteen that took it. So we're all taking it again next year, as sophomores. Which reminds me…sophomore year. You'd think I wouldn't be nervous about school starting Monday, but man, I was a wreck. I was just hoping nothing traumatic would happen this time. We definitely needed a break.

Will started going to the local community college; he was pursuing a degree in creative writing, which he said would be a piece of cake, after everything he'd gone through. In fact, I'm pretty sure he called up his parents to tell them that he was okay, but as far as I know, he never made the trip back to Australia. I'd like to assume he thought we were his family now.

The summer was full of pool parties and cookouts and standard volleyball games at the typical beaches, but there were also these moments in between, when Max, Andrea, and I hung out and talked about the good 'ol times, when we first met and when things weren't so damn complicated.

And then…we found ourselves landing in September. Or more specifically, September 1st, the day Andrea would be leaving to North Carolina. It wasn't a good day, either, it was pouring rain and it was kind of dramatic as we all stood there and said our goodbyes and gave out our presents and our hugs and our _see you soon_s and _hope you make lots of friends_'. I was the first one to say goodbye, and we stood under her front porch, her dad's Saab waiting out front, the moving van loaded up with all the boxes, and I honestly felt a tear sliding down my cheek.

Don't tell Max I said that.

"I'm going to miss you." She whispered, and it was all I could do not to kiss her right then, but I squashed those feelings because I had to remind myself yet again that it wasn't love, it was her power, and that I was dating Samantha.

"Me too." I hugged her, and let Max take up the next spot in line.

* * *

**(Max) **

Man…that all went by so fast.

I couldn't believe it, as I stood there holding Andrea's hand and whispering into her ear, that this would be the very last time we would see each other. We both made promises to save ourselves for the other, until our destinies somehow intertwined again and she'd end up back here. I knew it wouldn't happen, but I held out for the hope anyway, and gave her a huge photo book of all of our summer adventures, even a funny one of Neal eating a fistful of gummy worms with his mouth wide open. I knew she would laugh at it. I knew her. And I didn't want to let her go.

As Neal said, it was pouring rain and I couldn't believe how cheesy it was, like in all this movies where people kiss in the rain and it looks all sexy. B-movie worthy, let me tell you.

"Max," Andrea said quietly. "I'm never, ever, _ever _going to forget you or everything that you've done for me."

"I won't forget you either." I promised.

"And…I'll call you and e-mail and…everything." She giggled, and I smiled sadly, thinking, _I'm going to miss that. _

"And I'll tell you stories of Uncle G," I said back, and she giggled again, remembering his summertime affair with prescription pain medication.

"Andrea!" her dad called from the car. "Let's get moving, huh?"

Andrea traced a finger over my cheek. "I love you, Max Perwitz."

Those words sent my heart into a spastic rhythm, because, for the first time since I'd known her, I realized…I loved her, too. "And I love you, Andrea Portland." I whispered.

She laughed, and choked back a cry at the same time. I could see her eyes watering and I could feel mine struggling not to let loose the waterworks either.

"Let's go, Andrea," her dad called again.

"I've got to go," Andrea whispered.

"I heard." I smiled thinly.

"I guess…this is goodbye."  
"I guess so."

I watched her leave, after another ten minutes of hugging, kissing, and reassurances, and I looked up at the sky and smiled, stretching out my hand.

* * *

**(Andrea) **

Five minutes after we left my old driveway, the rain started to dissipate, and Rob pointed out the window.

"Look, Andrea, it's a rainbow!" he said excitedly.

I peered out, and sure enough, visible through the last drops of rain falling onto the windshield, a rainbow stretched across the sky.

* * *

**(Max) **

So that's it. End of story. My life, as told by a random cast of characters I'll never talk to again. Ha, I'm totally kidding. I'll never forget these guys for the rest of my life.

And maybe something good did come out of this: I have a friend who took a knife for me. He could have died. He could have died and left me with the biggest form of guilt the world's ever seen, but Neal Potts is just that cool to be stabbed and then bounce back from it like it all meant nothing.

And maybe Will really is my right-hand man, the guy that'll always be my backup, ready with a plan, ready with a safety net. Maybe I like that he isn't just that random guy I met in the bathroom. Maybe I like having people like me around.

And maybe Adam _is _missing and maybe he _is _gone forever, but I won't forget him.

And maybe Reid still is in Peru, the jackass.

And maybe Steven and Ben will make a movie about all of this. Maybe it'll be super popular. Maybe they'll make millions. Maybe I'll get some of that cash. Maybe we'll all stay friends during high school and on through college and the rest of our lives, until we're old and in nursing homes and can't eat food by ourselves.

And maybe it'll be months from now, maybe it'll be years, maybe I will be out of college and saving people, being a paramedic, but I'll see Andrea again.

At least, that what's Casey tells me.


End file.
